Member Poem

a visitor, his remains twisted
within the alien wreckage, but it was his eyes
I was drawn to. . .like the inside
of an abalone shell, translucent and
glittering with grains of sand,
bits of shell and sea glass, his lips
parted as if to share a secret,
but instead revealed an iridescent foam.
 
I watched as the crowd poked at him
with sticks and shovels, a gloved hand,
listened to the cacophony of fear, 
their feeble attempts to label him
creature, monstrosity, as they had no name
for what he might be or become.
 
The authorities arrived, and I moved further
away from the crowd as they slid him into a
black bag, the sound of the zipper,
so final.
 
After  everyone left, I gathered what I could
carry from the wreck, made it a few steps before
I just started running for cliffs. . .
because now there was no one left who knew my name.
 
 
(The original version of this poem was titled “After the Storm,” and was published in a Sam’s Dot Publication and also appeared in my collection, Jupiter’s Eye, I believe. It has undergone major revision as well.)