The S-shaped heart in his head
fills his eyes with fresh blood
for as long as he doesn’t stop
swimming. I watch reruns
of laymen and scientists
bickering about how best
to kill him before he chews
an island to pieces, the children—
morsels of the future. I tattooed
his silhouette on my forearm
to show strangers: I’ll bite you,
but I’m misunderstood;
I’m hungry for something else
you sort of resemble, bobbing
on the surface and not at all
out of reach. I watch reruns
of laymen and scientists kissing
loved ones and solid ground
goodbye before searching
whitecaps for his largerthanaverage
body—his heart, his heart. His heart:
a pokerface laying down a flush and losing.
Amy Marengo received her MFA from Virginia Tech, where she currently teaches first-year writing. She has recent or forthcoming work in Pleiades, Cimarron Review, DIALOGIST, among other journals. For more info on publications and awards, please visit her at amymarengo.com.
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