This week’s Teaser Tuesday is a poem from David Livingston Clink’s poetry collection Eating Fruit Out Of Season. The book is available for purchase online. David is the author of 5 poetry chapbooks, and editor of 7 others. He is past Artistic Director of the Art Bar Poetry Series and current Artistic Director of the Rowers Pub Reading Series. For more information visit David’s website, www.poetrymachine.com
Sailing to Atlantis
My story began at the beginning of the last Ice Age before the Great Lakes were scooped out like ice cream.
Walking alone at night in my patient zero isolation, feeling eyes from dark recesses, tasting smells from sewer drains, the eyes of a saber-tooth track me and the smell of a family of woolly mammoths stays with me, awaken primal memories. For I am alone on this Stonehenge night and it is two a.m. I think of time and memory and you.
I remember back to your mermaid kisses, and me offering you Trident gum.
In my castle under a greasepaint sky, winter two feet deep in places, my kingdom in ashes, I climb to the highest turret, looking out to the ocean where I can see you in the distance, treading water, looking back at me. I hate that you live in the sea and I on land.
The Egg Board has found that eating eggs is good for you and I don’t know what to believe any more.
Riding on my high seahorse I skim the coral reefs slashing the backs of bottom feeders and manatees, the gulf between us narrowing till I find your mermaid arms under Ptolemy skies. I try to get you to say your name backwards and every time I close my eyes I blink you out of existence.
The irony in my blood came from an exploding star and you could never replace the warmth the sun provides.
I worry about earthquakes, tornadoes, fires, floods, civil unrest, and we didn’t have time to talk as Rome and Atlanta burned and why would they publish accounts of the 60s on acid-free paper?
When I am with you I can hear my heart thunder like the sound of distant dogmas and I am imprinted on you for we are tethered by the vestiges of primitive morphology. Let us fly across the water as we leave this diseased world contagious as yawns, emerging from thalidomide darkness, keeping on the wave front of this lathe of foam, harbingers of change.
I am reminded of Atlantis in the fish store as I look a Doric columns and other objects making an antiquarian aquarium of sunken ships, treasures, artefacts and decaying architecture.
I blamed the troubles of the world on daylight savings and I shared a Reuben Sandwich with a Rubenesque woman. The restaurant on the moon where we first met had no atmosphere but you were there and breathed life into me and although time is relative you can choose your friends. I learned that most people take a lifetime to die, and friendships rarely last.
I will tell you of my life on cave walls.