Marshall Mallicoat - Silverfish
Tonight I’m lonesome enough to write a letter
addressed to a Florida key. I bend my thumb
to squeeze the silver from a silverfish,
and in its ink I fix my signature.
Branches reach toward my window to take my hand,
but I am inconsolable. I stomp down
the stairs like playing “Chopsticks” with my feet.
I remember you were made of dark, warm wood—
or do I still?
At least I feel a warmth and see a darkness.
We cut our hair alike and walked the streets
as if our limbs were bound together, chained
like galley slaves on the Aegean sea.
It’s true that I remember less well than you,
and so I remember it better, even good;
in the dimness of my memory you gleam,
receding to a single point of light.