Metamorphosis

Mine was not the only uterus washed up,
a jellyfish left to wither in the sun,
poked with sticks by children kicking stones.
Moon jellies just under the surface,
pulsating oysters sucked from their shells.

Death all around: a pig stuck and hung,
chopped up, to be packaged at the big freezer in town.
Basel found hanging from a tree.
Mayme laid out in the parlour.
Jim near the end now.
Sea stars losing their limbs.

Wind blows through every vacant room.
Bare branches,
tiny milagros of rain.

Inside the cave we painted spirals
on our bellies and faces, our own bioluminescence.
That heatless light