When the cars on the overpass see me
it will be out of context—knee deep in a bay
lined with horse bones sorting my nets
as one prepares the body for sleep.
To the jet trails more of the same—
they look on me as the half moon shape
before anything incomplete
the broken mix of shale and millstone
the marbled sound floor.
I’ve been told good legs carry a good man
but the catch says none of this—
Each loose vertebrae snagged with the bluefish
brine eaten and amnesiac.
The jawbones unanswered.
I pretend to believe in marrow
in the muck boots and waders
in the open cast to the plainspoken cooler.
I walk through the channel depths
a blind man with alien feet my body
a body by namesake.
About the Author
Matthew Zingg’s work has appeared in Cider Press Review, Opium Magazine, The Madison Review and The Awl among others. He received his MFA in poetry from Adelphi University and is a co-founding member of the writers collective, 1441.
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