The old wounds circle
like sharks, laser focused
lurking in the deep,
no dorsal fin protruding
above the surface,
hidden predators perfume-
starved for the metallic,
iron-rich (I was
never anemic) smell:
blood in the water—
which is thicker,
blood or brine?
Grand Marnier or maple syrup?
Cheesecake is the answer (ice
cream melts too
fast). How long
until the
feeding frenzy
ends? How many
rows of teeth are in
two sharks?
How many rainbows
in the iridescence
of oil in the puddles
on the highway?
What happens when
the poisonous predators
grow legs
and eat the
trees?
About the Creator
Harper Lewis
Intrusive rhyme bothers me, except as a weapon.
Intertextuality is my passion.
Formalist/ New Critical are my guiding theories.
My words are mine, not a robot’s.
MA English literature, CofC
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