September 28, 2022All Bodies
As in every language,
there are different words
for all bodies
of water. Somehow
it still surprises me
how many. Like the goldfish
who died one after
another in the days leading up
to Nowruz, the New Year
whispering
at their budding
lips. There are rules:
I don’t know them yet.
From what I can tell,
rood-khaneh is House
of River. The Ocean
encompasses
The Seas. You will find
fountains and springs
in any suburban
yard, children’s hands
submerged within them.
And you can become
imprisoned in any
window you see
through. Once
kayaking, my small
boat flips over
in the rapids. I become
like a fish, betrayed
by my own opened
mouth. For fourteen days
I drown in my
great-grandma’s kitchen,
and the sabzeh grows
backwards into
itself. The rings
of my scales sound
outwards. My belly
splitting open
the surface. I pretend-
die like this, watching
the people twirl together
like water-bugs, some heaven
above me. A young boy
wades over to watch
me, from the other side
of the glass, eating
myself to death.
from #77 - Fall 2022