Читать книгу The Interrogation - Michael Bazzett - Страница 14

At Half-Island

At Half-Island, slate-gray water breaks

over rock and plasters

weeds like hair against the granite

It has been this way for years

the sea always swelling

the tides in flux

the breathing of the world

And anyone who pauses to sit

and watch the sea do its work

will feel a deep-breathing swell

slowly fill

the channels of their body

When the tide left the orca

slack on the rock

the men went out in tall oyster-boots

to take its teeth

They had a fine-gauge blade

for the enamel

Each tooth worn and grooved

as wood

a single one would fill your palm

with its heft

like an old flint-knife

found in a cave

One look at the angled whale

said something

was lodged in its belly

and soon the men

were cursing and gawping

as they pulled

the better part

of a moose out

including one

fine-hoofed foreleg

folded neat

as a camp chair

and half a rack

of splintered antler

I could see it then:

The wild-eyed moose

jolted in its crossing

as the water

swelled fat and black

around his churning

then dragged quickly down

to be bolted

in torn hunks

where the broken

antler did its piercing work

and the orca’s dark

life drained slowly

into its own belly

Maybe it is already

too late to talk

about appetite

or how we live

with rock and water

yet listen to neither

or how we cannot recognize

ourselves when delivered

to ourselves through signs

as when our souls

take the form of gulls

crying again and again

the one

sharp word

we all have in common—