Sunday, February 20, 2022

Walk It Off Octopus by Tyler Starks

 On a day like today, I can love you forever. Sorry for being so forward. Sorry for wrapping you up in such a large, intense gesture. In fact, today reminds me of an afternoon years ago, when I was in class, marine biology, which took place in the depths of a concrete building, this damp and dark basement simulating the bottom of the sea, and the teacher, an all-around solid guy, waxed on and on about the individual functions for the three hearts in an octopus, which I figured, and still believe, were all for love, which would also explain all their tentacles hopelessly trying to get a grip on everything passing by, and through this one window, level with the ground, I could make-out that the first hours of spring, right then, were just kind of blowing around, and people could finally stand outside without wanting to kill themselves, and willing to offer one another some loose chatter, nothing too heavy, and my heart, that ridiculous and troublesome car part, was doing some leaps in my chest, really making itself      known, and if I had three of them nothing else would ever get a word in, I mean at that point, I’d be one giant heart machine, bumping into stuff and when I came up for air, the teacher had, I guess, moved on to the bacterial communities inhabiting seaweed and I’m still trying to figure out how he had the courage to do just that. 

https://poets.org/2021-gertrude-claytor-poetry-prize

on

No comments:

Post a Comment