Mobius

The calcified doors open like shells
as I open my eyes and remember you
The shells of my lungs open with speech
in the palindrome of memory

The shriek like a bird, like a cat, was you
Water was our avenue
Water held us in his arms
Who drowned who in the ponds of our throats?

We pitted the cherries for latticed pies
Up we grew, as one not two
The oil-paint tubes pressed yellow and blue
No one saw the need we knew

On the pool’s rough scrape, on the lake’s silt floor
more was less and less was more
We whispered our dread in the ears of a boy
who stood as a statue in the green backyard

The bronze boy rode a green bronze fish
We sat on his shoulders as he balanced on waves
but he could not carry us far from home
in the Mobius strip of childhood

From Mobius, a manuscript in progress. First published in Salamander.