The Most Beautiful Bathtub in the World
BY TALIN TAHAJIAN
Imagine the History of the Church.
Now rotate it. Look down
The rod. Now it’s a point,
Which swells.
It’s a persimmon,
Take a bite. It grows gills
Then legs. Now it’s a medieval
Woman of the Cistercian Order.
She sings a liturgy of stained glass
Hounds, which float above
The altar. Is there a bathroom
In this church, says a child. Yes there is
I just invented
Water pressure. The pews melt into a face,
Which blushes. It’s transparent.
Like bathwater
I’ll do anything you want.
Give Up If You Think You Can Choose
BY TALIN TAHAJIAN
I’m cold, says the sea on this occasion.
And lonely. Which you can probably
Understand. But I’m also very
Sick, I’m decalcifying, I’m moved by forces
Invisible to me, and oily beasts, pursuing
Their sundry natures, writhe
Inside me. Yeah, I say,
I guess I relate to that
Less so. I am no creature,
The sea continues, I am the
Precondition, I’m full of weird
Pieces of string. Sheets of net.
Little pills. There’s still a curse
Out on me, I don’t know who it is
Out there, I’ve always been paranoid
And a little superstitious, I get it
From the rain, who gets it
From the fog, who gets it from the
Lightning, it’s terrifying, don’t just
Take my word for it, put it in your mouth
And you’ll see. A green and orange
Cat’s eye washes up at my feet.
You mean eat it? I say,
Confused. I’m not sure,
I say again, you know, I came here
To write a poem about a clam.
It’s getting dark now, and the tide is
Receding. I walk backward
Into the clear pool left on the strand
And look down at my boots. The sea’s
Muddy cyphers, all of a sudden,
Look distorted. That I could’ve ever read them
Seems impossible. Something inside me
Moves like a seaworm. Once,
As a child, I found a moon snail
By the rock known as Gull Poo.
Its shell became a map to something
That, suddenly, I’d never know.
Its ferocious, gleaming mantle
Was the color of a shadow
On the sea. That summer, a yellowfin tuna
Lay stinking on the beach until a few of us
Pushed back into the water and it fell apart
Like a beach rose. The headless seal
Showed up later, my aunts remind me,
Mid-October, coyotes probably,
Maybe poachers. I nudge a piece of clam shell
With my boot and the lashed silt
Sticks nervously to itself. The geese
Draw themselves up into the great sepulchre
Above me, calling loudly to one another.
Sing better, fool, and maybe I’ll tell you.
The swine-sea convulses.
