Wine-dark sea

Mother Sea, I forgive you

drowning them then,

drowning them now as well:

swallowing, vomiting fish and bones

through wandering waves of water

and pain.

You cover your children under

your foaming blanket

and give them their goodnight kiss:

Anatomies lost in a plastic place.

Mother Sea, I saw you

opening your entrails to Moses,

licking Alberti's beautiful feet,

nourishing my ancestors' stomachs

and hosting the white whale tail.

We used to praise you, paint you, pencil you—

now we have polluted you,

deep dirty wound,

and you are drained.

Mother Medea, I understand your revenge.