[What They Were Building…]

A fine kettle of fish, an ancient Mesopotamia

unearthed anew. Mystic cities, the press

of fertile crescents,

thighs wide like to lay seed in. Literal rivers.

Blood on the tongue, hands rough with hammers,

structures without the sense

to not stand. A parting of fur, part animal part

iron. Whole constellations of mistakes, a population

of givers and cobblers, prone to sunburn and made

in the image of an absent god.

Flood plains, house fires. Obvious mosques. A single word

for coward and to want.

Galleries and a textbook of anatomy. Set loose in the desert,

a dissection of thirst.

Not a museum of ideas, but a neonatal unit. A sense of unity,

a few songs for the deaf.

Something more from maps. Both catch and release.

Tiny, ritual deaths.

Cate McLaughlin, an MFA student at Syracuse University, has published a chapbook,The Year of Black Coffee.