Terror-rium
We had an aquarium
A river, a lake, a sea.
On our desk—the ocean.
Our exotic fish, fished
from the very river, lake, or
sea which we have now.
On our desk—we provide forage,
food, plants, water, and fish.
The aquarium had us.
…
We had an insectarium
An arachnid, an insect, a butter
-fly. On our counter—the air.
Our countertop full of flourishing
flowers, fluttering wings of broken
butterflies, falling from feed, because
they drink—and we pluck their
wings, tape them to tapestries to
stare. Say, how pretty they are.
The insectarium had us
…
We had a terrarium.
A desert, a savannah, a floor of sand.
Our room is lit by a woodland, a
jungle, a place we’ve never been.
African violets decorate our reptiles,
all scales and shells and condensation.
It rains today—the lid which collected
our precipitation. Our pebbled floor,
formed over our marbled kitchen.
The terrarium had us
…
We had an arium,
and we destroyed it
to keep them on our desks,
nuzzled between family portraits and pens,
to remind ourselves of what
We used to have and
what we’ll never have
again, but at least they are
pretty, and no one needs
National Geographic to stare
anymore. We have our countertops.
...
This was read at the University of Kansas on May 10, 2013:
http://shannonathompson.com/2013/05/10/contest-winners-and-poetry-from-my-ku-reading/
This was read at the University of Kansas on May 10, 2013:
http://shannonathompson.com/2013/05/10/contest-winners-and-poetry-from-my-ku-reading/
