the first abyss is blue. i recognize it by its waterlogged stars. the second one, purple. it doesn’t have much to do with the first. i move between them like a translucent fish. sharks sink their amulet teeth into my insufficient marrow. the mind goes gaga. those few seconds before i lose wisdom. when i say abyss, i mean cat, broomstick, fence & suspenders.
when blue comes to town it’s usually sick & throws up. i’m not there at the moment. i came to the smallest island i could find.
green as far as the eye can see. sometimes gray. on account of the algae. i mean angels. i mean the angle of the sun. you are with me. this i must remember. we check in at the hotel hanging over the edge. bits of foundation crumbling into the sea. wallpaper curling off the wall. there are things behind that wallpaper.
wall-scratching things. things hungry for my glue & paper soul.
the hotel is at least a century old. it has seen various dignitaries. most of them dead now. their names erased from history. not from the hotel’s leather- bound ledger. even the fascists’ names are beautifully curlicued. as if the people bearing them have been alive once. our names
are in there too. something we still need to talk about. what it means to have your name next to a fascist’s. what that association can do to your innards.
we blame the food. the kitchen is as old as the hotel. not to mention the chef. we get what we get & we don’t throw a fit. the nearest restaurant an hour’s boat ride away. tonight, on the menu, a rare combination of seafood vices. spines. eyeballs. never mind the fish scales. is that an anglerfish tooth.
i feel it coming. the door opens. hesitates. closes. no. it’s not here yet. instead, the room is inhabited by a shaft of yellow light. submerged. sharp like the abalone shell that sliced off your fingertip. as if it were trying to open you right back. you looked at what
had been you & wasn’t any longer. you made a stupid joke about childbirth. my lips were white. i worry too much, you said. not quite everything is a sign. but i knew. i saw it happen in slow motion. i was outside my body. i watched it rush to swaddle an uncapped finger. that meant something.
& where was the abyss
when we drove. you & your fingertip to the. emergency room. who was staring at it. who made sure it didn’t change. color the moment we looked away. i tried hard to. imagine a nice ever. after. instead, i see. myself from behind. thick. glass. can you. think up a. future with the abyss. latched onto your. mouth breathing. giving birth. to your. children.