I ate a can of sardines
by the Gulf of Mexico—
tin peeled back like a tongue.
I felt envious eyes in every hinge of shell
that would not close. My heels
burrowed into the sand
as if I, too, were something
half-willing to be swallowed.
The sea and land spoke
over one another like divorced parents
arguing across a child.
I stood between them
unsure which hunger was mine.
— CHRISTOPHER RICKER
