Horseshoe Crab

by Chris Ketchum

 

Blue-blooded, antediluvian
               and yet flown in
on the flood of tide,

we swarm the shore
               by thousands, shells
baptized in moonlight,

to let our eggs into the sand.
               We remember
what you call prehistory.

Before your slavering ancestors
               unbent their backs,
whatever god worked

on our bodies
               stowed his chisel,
swept the shop and

dusted off his shirt—
               we had achieved
a fixity of form.

Now, you gather us
               to siphon what the gods
of your invention

never gave you
               as the dark waves
pulse against the coast.

What should we
               make of your desire
for transformation

if not a sickness
               of self
-hatred?

As your needles
               drain our hearts,
remember, little anti-god—

you who unmake everything
               but your own
image—we knew you

long before you cared
               to recreate yourself
with looted blood.

You think you’ve changed.
               You never have
known how to stop.

 

back to University & College Poetry Prizes