they declared all the hatcheries of tourism dead:
our lakes of last resort, empty.
A pandemic. A bacteria.
How do we isolate
a fish a body of water a body?
I envy the humans, skin
sleek as seals, tethered to boards: floating,
waiting for immersion through flow or fall
into the amniotic ocean.
The unseasonably warm sea-foam
reaches under my skirt, caresses my thighs
the first to touch my body in months.
—
Lisa Eve Cheby, poet, librarian, and daughter of Hungarian immigrants has been published in journals and anthologies including TAB: Journal of Poetics and Poetry, Santa Ana River Review, So To Speak, Ruminate, Gathering, Drawn to Marvel, and Coiled Serpent. She was writer in Residence at Sundress Academy for the Arts’ Firefly Farms and Dorland Mountain Arts. She has three chapbooks are available from dancing girl press. http://lisacheby.wordpress.com
