Fish Guts

Man was born with the heart of a fish.
We are built for land and our oxygen-addicted lungs require we stay
And yet, we are drawn to that fateful substance that gives us life even more than air.
Our bodies keep us from living beneath the ocean’s surface, that much is true,
So we’ve compromised.
Moving near enough to satisfy that lust for liquid while still be able to breath.
We’ve built cities on water, houses that float, even the machine that can break the surface
And let us pretend, even for a little while, that we belong to the sea.

And yet, despite this yearning for the marine colored life,
There is an edge to the longing.  Fear.
We dare not enter the cool waves without protection, a watchful eye, and air tank, a life saver.

We know more about floating bodies millions of lightyears away
Than we do about bodies that float just miles below the ocean’s surface.

So what brings us back time and time again to the same shores
That can cause such tremors?

Maybe it’s human nature to follow the dangerous, the forbidden.
Maybe it’s the ethereal influence of the moon ever present, leading us to the water’s edge.
Or maybe it’s just that  we, like everything else in her wake,
Are merely trapped in the continuous push and pull of the tides.  

An Essay's Worst Nightmare

Lamentations of a Paleontologist's Wife

You got home late last night.

You didn’t call,
Not that you usually do,
But it would have been nice
To know you wouldn’t be coming.

I made dinner and everything.  
It went cold.

I know where you were,
So let’s not pretend.
You were with her again.
Camarasaurus.

At that clubhouse you call a career.
When will you remember me?
And the vows that you made?
Do I have to be preserved in amber,
Dead for millions of years before I can peek your interest?

Don’t lie to me.
I could never make your eyes light up the way
A  fossilized femur does.

My father was right.
I should have married the poet.

Rainbow Hair

Jessica

Perspective

Half empty
or half full
the boat still sinks.