Satellites Like Black Stars

Cords of hair and eyelashes and seaweed
weave together on my brows
weave a helmet or a blindfold
tenfold darker glued with sea salt
closed the curtain on a flaming sky
Blacker than the slick black feather wing
of the ravens overhead

I imagine their wide circles, coarse
tongues and songs, snide remarks of

not too long, now

Empty stomachs like mine
They must be eager, circles shrinking
falling into formation — much ado

I stall
heave my empty stomach over
Signs of life
My hollow ribcage, bony scaffolding
heaves around, collapses and folds
like origami claws, clawing at the sand
as if too hungry to wait for my mouth

My empty stomach churns
My mother’s child turns over
Twenty years of my life turns over
Memories of fine dining in smoking booths
turn over and I’m still waiting
for my satellites to drop like black stars
from their smoky firmament

A grieving body pushes up
and the sun’s so hot it cauterizes
my hair to my face, black-hot
and ringed with a salty aura

I smell like smoke
My hands are tougher now
My second skin gritty and hot
There’s buried treasure in the pores
I’m cast off not cast away
Here to seek my fortune
Here to get my fortune back

A midnight feather falls beside
and a hearty swoop confuses me
The tide nips at my lame feet but
in no time I’ll be rich
In no time I’ll be satisfied

I smell like smoke and my wits are on fire
I watch the sun set
The first humans were hungry like me
and look where we are now
Me and time, we have a pact, you see

I watch the sun set, my satellites
fall from the starving sky
as I look about me for the next thing to do