Zachary Lundgren
A LESSON IN CARTOGRAPHY
He wrestled a stingray from the ocean, Joe did, laugh-
jogging his way up the beach. Combing
his black ocean hair, he smiled, showing us all
the cuts between his fingers, sand colored to copper.
Joe directed us, his sunburned militia, to ready
the grill, find some matches, let’s make the lighter fluid
sing. We had just learned cigarettes and girls
and now all this.
He held it up by the tail, nameless and wet,
a scorpion from some mythological sea. It looked
like something I could love and fear
all at once. With time, hands convince themselves of calluses.
And we cursed a lot—loud—because it was fucking cool
watching it burn. Seawater and lighter fluid in a dance.
We didn’t have much charcoal, but the grill still grinned
its black-crossed mouth for this new taste.
My best friend stood beside me as we watched the ocean
undress itself; confess. That expanse, once wide beyond
our silly heads, the small language of our eyes, shrunk
that day. Joe, he just stood there, chewing on becoming
a man and drawing us all maps and laughing at this laughing at maps and drawing for each of us
EVERYTHING IS MADE OF WATER AND FULL OF GODS
—after Thales
What if our souls really are made of water?
Imagine us
falling, each of us from fat clouds
patiently carving canyons over years
and minutes of sun. Imagine our souls could be bottled
for when they’re needed most.
Now, sit beside me and tell me what we are
made of: carbon and nitrogen—not the curve of a wrist wet
hiding mangled eyes. Sitting on this cement curb.
We are fathered by it. At the airport, the palm trees remain
distant in their knowledge, their amusement.
She drove away. She just drove away because you
were supposed to go
home.
What if our souls really are made of little gods?
Imagine this
whole year is a story where you’re driving
to the ocean with a friend who is also a god and you ask him
what the moral is. He sighs, tells you don’t look
inside the house for rain
ZACHARY LUNDGREN received his MFA in poetry from the University of South Florida and his PhD from East Carolina University. Recently, his first full book of poetry, Turkey Vulture, was published by Meadowlark Press. He has also been published in several literary magazines and reviews, including The Columbia Review, The Wisconsin Review, Clockhouse, Beecher’s Magazine, and The Louisville Review.
