I first am an impostor,
Then an improper vacationer among the ruins of error,
Then am porous in the mouth— violent, redundant.
Land of heartless brothers. Land of the unwed.
Of the callous and the harsh climate, or so they have said. Of the why and un-why-ed.
I have kept my promise to the sky, she lied. I have lied for you, she lied.
And in the eye of the undusted daughter, anointed and unbothered, was I.
Flawed from all of this I have fled. It was awfully unlawful to flee,
But me, I cannot keep to laws. I could not see to see.
Unwilling witness, bodies outsourced to the sea.
Christopher J. Adamson is a poet and essayist. His poetry, creative nonfiction, and criticism have appeared or are forthcoming in ZYZZYVA, Southwest Review, and West Branch, among other publications. He holds an MFA from Vanderbilt University and lives in Oakland, California. Read more at christopherjadamson.com.
Photo by Richard