I dream at times of being an octopus,
of letting patterns swirl on arms and face.
Concealed by color, I’d wait to ambush
a crab, clam, or fish. Then drop, and embrace
the prey with muscled tentacles clutched close.
But when I visit the aquarium,
observe the octopus and her sorrows—
no salt water waves to ride, no demon
shark challenger— only a bell jar tank,
one creviced rock, the human keeper.
And yet, she seeks his scent. As if she drank
him in with curious skin, a deeper
knowledge. To be known in this way, clearer,
would we give up window, surrender mirror?
—
Renée M. Schell’s debut collection, Overtones, was published in 2022 by Tourane Poetry Press. Her poetry appears in New Verse News, Catamaran Literary Reader, and many other journals. She was lead editor for the anthology (AFTER)life: Poems and Stories of the Dead. A Best of the Net nominee, she holds a Ph.D. in German Studies and also taught at a Title I school in San José. Find her at www.reneemschell.org.
