Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Thirty-five
Summer 2014
Amorak Huey

In the last moments before drowning, the body
grows very still. You might look

at the shape of this silence in the water and think: happiness.

Think: heron or peace. You might remember your own failings:

those times you forgot the lift tickets
or could not pry straw from tree.

Isn’t there a language that has thirty-eight words for swim?
This is the cue you’ve been waiting for —

you might think of one body against another,
each jostle against the skin, each electric shock —

imagine the spasm back to life, the throb of recognition.

About Amorak Huey

Previous Poem | Next Poem