Five (wet) poems - (for a sixth wet poem, see the Watsu in a Beit Zayit pool entry in this blog)

The poems are accompanied by macro photographs of Kambucha mushrooms that proliferate in sweet tea, producing a fermented drink said to have healing powers

 

Sargasso Sea*

 

In the still eye

of the Atlantic, where ships

are trapped         

in snarls of seaweed,  

 

I am a net    

  swung out by Mother Ocean

  to fish discarded

  dreams,       

an unborn child, wriggling

through forests of tendrils,

blessed

with gills   

I did not know I had

 

In this dead silence,

untouched

by massive ocean streams, I cling

to weeds

that lost their way   

 

 

to still time

 

 

and not make landfall

too soon

 

 

*The Sargasso Sea is a region in the middle of the North Atlantic Ocean. It is bounded on the west by the Gulf Stream; on the north, by the North Atlantic Current; on the east, by the Canary Current; and on the south, by the North Atlantic Equatorial Current. All the currents deposit the marine plants and refuse they carry into this sea.

 

 

 

Issyk Kul, “the Warm Lake,” Kyrgyzstan

Hemmed in

by snow mountains, this terminal lake

holds on to its water - it does not bleed

its secrets

Legends tell

of four drowned cities

buried in its bed, of Black Death  

arising from its banks,

while Russian torpedoes

plumb the depths

of its subconscious   

I let myself sink

in this vast alpine sea

that accepts me

as if it always knew me -  

not a foreign body

in its warm, saline waters, 

but almost endemic, like its fish

threatened

with extinction.

  

****

In a Glass Jar

 

In the silence

of submerged fungi

that thirst

for sugared tea,

 

I am a seahorse

suspended

amidst swelling

membranes that threaten

to colonize this jar

 

My skin

breaks out in goose-bumps

when I brush

against their gelatinous

sacs; their knotted tails ensnare

my flesh and brown secretions sour

the liquid where I am caught

 

looking out

through the darkening glass

 

instead of peering through my lens

looking in

 

***

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Inner Fish

 

The fish inside me

thrive

in the bulk of my body

that is water

 

I feel them whirring

through my cells, wriggling

my spine,    

making my fluids

gurgle;   

with the swish of their tails

they spin

my mind, give me the shivers           

when they flip like a fetus

in my womb

 

The fish inside me

smile                                

as I slide back

to an ancient self,

and let them swim

me

with the grace

and speed

I otherwise lack 

 

*** 

 

 

 

 

 

Photographing

Kambucha Mushrooms

 

 

I muse

on these mushrooms I grow,

symbioses of bacteria and yeast       

in an alchemist’s jar of fermenting

fluids meant as a brew

to cure all ills.    

 

Swathed

in a coat of slime they lie

suspended, baring

their folds and sprout

contorted tails that quiver

in the copper-colored liquid

or coil up on their skin, resembling

a wound.

 

Lit by my studio lamp

they become translucent, flowing

veils of belly dancers,

an amniotic sac. 

 

I gaze

upon their pimpled flesh,

their purple tongues

and shudder

as they conjure up sensations

I knew before

I learned to speak, before

they slipped through webs

of well-bred words     

into oblivion

 

 

****