ARUNI WIJESINGHE

Blowfish

My poem lolls in the surf, rocked
in a cradle made of a mesh onion bag.
It has been swept out to sea many times,
off the beach at Trincomalee, only to return
back to the same stretch of sand.

I learn that an ancient name for the bay
is Gokarna, the Bulls’s Ear,
referring to Nandi,
guardian of Kailash,
sacred bull of Shiva.
This place, the ear of the bull,
is sacred, holiest of holies.

My poem bloats in its bag
and flies circle its mass,
waiting for something to happen.

It gestates in the bull’s ear,
swelling with secrets.
Like a sack of nightmares,
spiny and menacing,
words are seeds washed up
from some deep undersea forest,
rolling in the rising tide, looking
for a place to burst open
and take root.

It is not concerned
with the depth of the harbor,
drowning deep.
It watches children race
on the wet sand, wonders
if one brave boy will break
from the pack, grab a stick of driftwood
and poke at blowfish eyes.

A group has gathered to watch
fishermen haul in an enormous net.
The sea drags men back towards the waves,
unwilling to surrender gifts

and horrors alike.

Aruni Wijesinghe is a project manager, ESL teacher, erstwhile belly dance instructor and occasional sous chef; she now, strangely, adds poet to this list. Her debut poetry collection, 2 Revere Place, is a love letter to her family and miraculous childhood in New York. You can follow her at www.aruniwrites.com

“Blowfish” (First published in 2 Revere Place, Moon Tide Press, 2022)