Cuttlefish

Юрию Лукачу


A neat incision over the speckled skin
Releases whiteness painful to the eyes.
What’s left is a deflated zeppelin
Fallen from its sturdy aquatic skies.

Mangled, collapsed and sank into the sink,
Slain for the bounty, for the blackish gloss
Of precious fuel, highly valued ink.

Superb in casseroles and pasta sauce.

Black-hearted leviathan, fallen from grace,
Erased from sepia seascapes on vellum scrolls!
It isn’t art but palate in this case
That screams for sacrifice and takes its toll.

I’ll clean the chopping board of the entrails
And toss the chalky frame into the bin.
There are no monsters. Kitchen is a place
For epiphanies unwelcome and obscene.

Лара Леггатт, 2009

Сертификат Поэзия.ру: серия 1142 № 72332 от 03.09.2009

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