Hippocampus

By BINO A. REALUYO

 

Memory: a man cradles his son onshore,
pressing warm sea breeze on his tiny rebellion.
If men gave birth, what would become of gods?

I find myths in ruins. Aging now
and like pieces of shells—no wholes,
I ask: If I could find Love in Evolution,
why would it matter whom I desire?

Mythic bodies, each night wishing we were
seahorses. Milk turns to sea, ripples to waves,
fractals, choreographed strings of time.
Tongues blur dogma, I name my child,

Rebel,

an offering to the open sea, where light is salt,
seaweed, male pouches bearing young.

 

Bino A. Realuyo is the author of The Gods We Worship Live Next Door, winner of the 2005 Agha Shahid Ali Prize for Poetry. He has published poems in The Nation, the Kenyon Review, New Letters, and recent issues of ZYZZYVA, North American Review, Salamander, and New American Writing. “Hippocampus” is from his completed manuscript The Rebel Sonnets. In December 2019, the band U2 featured his poem in its Joshua Tree Anniversary Concert Tour in Manila. He is an adult educator and immigrant rights activist in NYC. Read more at binoarealuyo.com.

[Purchase Issue 19 here.]

Hippocampus

Related Posts

Silvia Guerra

Translation: Moss on a Smooth Rock

SILVIA GUERRA
Nocturnally tied / The aquatic whistling pine / and the goldfinch in the garden / Over the dark torment / of being one Of being two / of loving // The waters / the swans. / The lagoon // The thin horizon / and shivering straw / At the sides of / the line...

Image of a goat on a cliff.

Trap Street

KAREN SKOLFIELD 
Twitch of the cartographer’s hand and a street / is born, macadam free, a tree-lined absence, / paved with nothing but a name. No sidewalks, / no chalk, no children’s voices, / a fence unlinked from its chains, / the cars unmoored, corn left to its rubble...

Image of a dark meadow with naked trees.

Recollections

ALEKSANDAR HEMON 
My father once asked me: How is it I can recollect / with utmost clarity what happened forty years ago, / but not what I did this morning at all? I didn’t know, / but I recognized I would always recall that moment. / It was late summer. We were driving to the country / to see my grandfather...