Hidden in rippled pages
smells of old salt and pressure
I turn quivering pages, vague guilt
I am not meant to see these things
their forms make no sense.
Food floating down to abyssal
hundreds of atmospheres above.
Deep jelly acorn worms
light up my insides, transparent
plasma balls, no child’s
curious hand to draw their current
Blind, purple and peculiar
no face no eyes no need to sense
the living fossil they trace.
An electron micrograph of
evolution. It makes me small.
Curl my toes, nauseous and
besotted with difference.
Angler fish hang in heavy space
reason against fear with small eyes
I worry their gory details for loveliness
/if I had that underbite I’d be in braces/
delicate teeth curve a cradle
smooth spindles and gums
could make a gentle bed.
/no need for a whacking great Lumamax just/
a soft globe of light that
like honey from a dipper.
Leave the creatures, tumble-turn to
roam the sub-photic black
It may be a cold dark place for you
but it’s not for a child of my mold.
Nostalgic for where I have never lived
I want to believe
if I close my eyes they disappear
extend my fingers, feel them glow
hold my breath for the hypoxic deep.
Today's poem is based on suggestions from four peeps:
- @antipodeankate: "the sadness that comes from leaving somewhere you once lived, realising you'll never live there again. #orisitjustme" (Not just you! I am nostalgic for places I've never even been to!)
- @johnnypurple: "omg, have you done one about The X-FIles yet???!? #OMG!" (I have put XF stuff in before, but always happy to do it again. And again.)
- @realnixwilliams: "nostalgia"
- @sushipyjamas: "Angler fish. Worms. Dark places."
In my usual nerdtastic style, the 3rd and 4th lines of the last stanza are a play on an X Files quote from Scully (in Beyond the Sea): "It may be a cold dark place for you, but it's not for Mulder." The other X Files quote is fairly obvious. A Lumamax is a type of enormous flashlight that looks like ones Mulder and Scully carry.