by Ankh Spice
Tangaroa’s belly flattens, swells
into the bright blade. Light honed by a creeping moon
is the sharpest of all light, slipped glass
ruptures him – quickening mercury
beads through cold ink. At his edges, silvered
waves break, and break
again – this is the nature of waves –
but to shush, shush yourself calm, knowing
the shattering will go on until even the moon is dust, this –
only gods should have to do
Ankh Spice is a sea-obsessed poet from Aotearoa (New Zealand), who genuinely believes that narrative can change the world. His poetry frequently interweaves nature/environment with mental health, and has featured in various publications, including Kissing Dynamite, Black Bough Poetry, Burning House Press, The Failure Baler, and others. He has upcoming work in Fly on the Wall Press, Rhythm & Bones, Moonchild Magazine, Honey & Lime, Re-Side, and Fevers of the Mind. His first chapbook is currently out in the great Submission Ocean. You can find him on Twitter @SeaGoatScreams, on Facebook @AnkhSpiceSeaGoatScreamsPoetry, and his published work to date listed here: https://linktr.ee/SeaGoatScreamsPoetry.
(Also check out Ankh’s poem Group therapy for clever crabs from the November 11, 2019 Weekly. – Elephants Never)