The Ethylene Sea

I come from a place called childhood,
a psychedelic forest. It was
glowing with fur and nutrients.

Can’t say more and before that
a membrane stretched over vesicles,
erratic boulders sprang

from the hydrocarbon fountain.
For a century or more nothing mattered.
Somewhere a two-headed bird was whistling dixie

as farm machinery chewed up rodent carcasses
and spit them out. I saw it all
from the top of a shagbark.

I fought a river for my name,
came out a compromise,
awoke with one arm wedged in the cleft

of a similar criminal. Where
a hidden hormone we both breathed
smelled of sweet sweat leaking.

I did not come from comfort.
And if comfort comes
it was not mine to bring.

In trailer-lots halogen sings
globs of mega-tomatoes
to sleep in the ethylene sea.

Ripening. Ripening.

Ethan Seeley lives in western Massachusetts.