By Carine Topal

         Her child shall be widowed
         in unspeakable ways

I dream him
a blind or lame Damian
paddle-limbed
with a thrusting jaw
(Why give him such legs
if he cannot swim?)

He comes from me
easily without pain
simply without blood

White-lipped he squats
and looks up with lidless eyes
as though something subterranean
was erupting behind them

No one dares look at him
he just crouches
not knowing what to do
with those plated arms
flapping in the well-lit room

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