| Arsenic Lobster poetry journal |
Issue Thirty-three Winter 2013 |
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| Explaining Origins and Ending Sara Moore Five-hundred or forty years ago, your heart was a small plum in the paw of an animal no one ever named. This creature had ears as thin as cactus spikes and stone teeth. It was the ancestor of your sensory organs. When God made you, he thought of this being and this half eaten heart as if it were an eternal moment. Nothing is quite perfect unless it is like this, half eaten and unaware of what it does or will do. My son, we are half picked, rotting fruit. Look at the way our lips still crack— knees bend like emptying vines. Our own tongues and teeth devour us. |
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