On the theme of Comic Books
SONG FOR AQUAMAN
Fish? I can hear them.
Through the oil-slicked waters
heated to boiling, I can hear
their cries, their panic-whine of need,
not words or thoughts but a hum,
electric, that moves through me
like a lance. Some days it is too much—
you know how water conducts—
and I send out my own signal
so they will shut the hell up.
Above, the light sears,
everything is baking.
Even now, you are withering,
gasping for air, for space,
for a tidal wave of meaning
to come and wash it all away.
I can help, though you never ask.
There is no signal for me, no light
in the night sky calling my name.
Would you prefer a cape?
Could you cup your hands, then,
in pleading, in supplication?
No, it is easier not to be found
wanting, not to find cracks,
to suspect your city full
of aging buildings, ready
to be razed to the ground.
Author Biography
Melissa Reddish graduated with an MFA from American University. Her work has appeared in decomP, Prick of the Spindle, and Northwind, among others. She is also the co-faculty editor of Echoes & Visions, the student literary publication of Wor-Wic Community College.