Mother Sea, I forgive you
drowning them then,
drowning them now as well:
swallowing, vomiting fish and bones
through wandering waves of water
You cover your children under
your foaming blanket
and give them their goodnight kiss:
Anatomies lost in a plastic place.
Mother Sea, I saw you
opening your entrails to Moses,
licking Alberti's beautiful feet,
nourishing my ancestors' stomachs
and hosting the white whale tail.
We used to praise you, paint you, pencil you—
now we have polluted you,
deep dirty wound,
and you are drained.
Mother Medea, I understand your revenge.