Maybe because I *finally* finished reading Percy Jackson (I did not love it), I’ve got Greek myth on the brain.Â So when I realized I was late for poetry friday, I quickly thought of Molly Bendall’s book, Ariadne’s Island.
SAIL (I can’t figure out how preserve the spacing, so you might want to read it here!)
The trick is the flow. Little fish with storms on their
Stones don’t reveal
what they covet today, but I know them.
I gather scraps and throw them back,
throw them back to the waves
even as they climb toward my room.
So where to go when my pockets are
Night-shy, evening shells–
all eyelids and ears.
The glinting blades and their kindred—do they ever say,
no one ever, clean start, and
clean, stark, smoothed galleries within galleries
emptied of desire, but geled with color and domes of sea-
Look at the lapses in between stars,
vertebrae washed up at my feet.