The Naked Courier





This Naked Courier

 
In Trafalgar, I pluck the stars 

out the sky, put them in glass

bottles and give them to you.

I say the light of the universe

is in your hands, you look up;

Not even the night sky notices.

 

In San Bernardo, I watch

a fisherman flay and filet the

day’s freshest catch under

a canopy made for one. I catch

my reflection in fleeting scales

as they fall to the sandy floor.

In its stripping, you make eye

contact with this naked courier—

its eyes are a glossy black,

the kind of black we all

return to. It mouths the words

‘thank you.’

 

In the Dead Sea, my skin burns.

I am not welcome. No one is.

Salt seeps into cuts we don’t think

to cover. It burns but the water asks us

to stay a while and we do. We compare

ancestry; I ask if you ever get lonely,

you tell me you’re a nihilist now.

       
Seth Canner


Seth Canner attends the University of Greenwich, in London, where he is pursuing an honor's degree in English Literature and Creative Writing. He is also co-editor of Lit.cat, an online literary publication. 

 

 

 

 

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