Arsenic Lobster
poetry journal |
Issue Nineteen Spring 2009 |
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Stonetown Zanzibar Christina Cook The city's labyrinthine lungs sigh in souks: skewered lamb sizzles over flame, sugarcane milkshakes, witch fingered vanilla beans hang from vendors' pegs, hook nosed profile of a withered woman whose obsidian eyes bore through you but you don't see her watch you go, don't hear what she whispers. The dying sun seeps it's massive weight into crimson your lungs. In the House of Wonders: twenty years of uncounted ballots spilling out of boxes and in the far corner, a glass display cabinet: the pickled ghuma, Miracle Fish washed ashore in 1917. You read the Koran verse of its fishflesh la illaha illallah like any breath you've ever taken: the passages in your right lung form the same notation. Outside, you notice fewer children about, fewer veiled women. Long shadows fall against stone at sharp angles, alleys too narrow to fit them full length, more shadows now than people, more quiet than clamor: crows pick at litter, vague hoof-scuffs on stone grow louder. Scrawny boys who won't look you in the eye offer to lead you out for five drachma. You empty your pockets into their hands, see banners of clothing hung along derelict parapets. You think back to the souk woman's scattered black teeth. Words of a god swirl through your lungs, ready your breath. Clip-clap of hooves, a swish of tail, glimpse of a bearded face. You know there's no escape. |
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About Christina Cook |