by Binoy Zuzarte
I swim to meet you at the ocean’s bruise
between us (54º 48' 37" N, 43º 18' 54" W)
and when you can’t tread any longer
I tread for us both. Furious sculling,
eggbeater kicks. I tread and tread and tread
for a century, another, so long that time
gives me gills. You dissolve and a skate wing
blooms from my left armpit. Tentacles ink
where legs were. A squid beak gnaws
out my navel. Teeth double: jaw unhooks.
Hair congeals: luminous lure. Right shoulder
rips open: the big white eye of an orca.
Down I dive—graceless fright—
as you winter through the water column,
a second deeper sky. Dead matter
an eternal snow, motes of light
fusing to your every logged flake.
Tea leaves in a pot of grey. Down
past toppled statues, a rotted whaling ship,
the wreckage of a luxury submersible,
down joining creatures unknown to science,
comparing glass heads in the hadal zone,
making the most from less. I get by—
we all do. Skirting around the vantablack
all that’s guaranteed are scraps
and still the column gives and takes.
Time is measured in units of body.
The best bottom feeders want
but never complain.
BINOY ZUZARTE is a writer and creative director. Recent poems can or will be found in Arc, The Shore, and Dusie. He lives with his partner and their dog in Toronto, where he is working toward his first collection. Reach him @bzuzarte on IG or Bluesky.
Detritivore was edited by Julia Bortolussi. It can be found in Augur Magazine Issue 8.2.
