Felicia Zamora

Decoy (first published in Indian Review)

I am the ocean bottom; my craters full of bioluminescence
twinkling in heavy, heavy dark. Who speaks of the float circling
inside them? Cut open a creature; what do you expect? A line of
labels & a thing exposed; think clever me, let’s slice an eel, pare down
parts, see how we mean. Now you, eel under knife. Now me. Hold
the blade, away from anything that tears, cull the power of light,
of adaptation, the fish in heavy wet with a glowing lure on its
head; that’s something. Do you need to collect all parts to be
something? When first you swim, flesh remembers amniotic
everything; you on the other hand, ignore the innate sense of
fluidity. When I say you I mean I; a little I/Thou never hurt as
long as you fasten other’s oxygen mask first; I am a giant tube
worm, plume scarlet; think hemoglobin; think what carries in presence
of sulfide; think insides I wear out; & you consider float; the decoy
made of bob & shine & teeth & fins & & &