Self portrait as an Amoeba—from my modern biology textbook with ISBN 978-978-175-712-9

SELF PORTRAIT AS AN AMOEBA—FROM MY MODERN BIOLOGY TEXTBOOK WITH ISBN 978-978-175-712-9

by Martins Deep

I'm not in control.     

                              in a parallel universe,       science students observe how
an Amoeba
discharges water.     they sketch a contractile vacuole,      & it becomes
my eyes 
heavy with rain clouds.      they examine me clearly by dimming the light 
entering the microscope,      & the candlelight in my room flickers off.    on
my bed, i witness 
the moon bleed silver through the venetian blind.
                               Confession: i'm an organism pleasuring itself       with
the bow of a cello  
whetted on St Mary's feet.    to drown out my moans, Enya sings 
“Storms in Africa” in my mother tongue.     the song in my room is an echo 
of the English version in their lab.     i weep,     & they scribble on a notepad,  
“the amoeba 
gets rid of excess water that enters its cell by using a contractile vacuole”.
at my grandma's,  
i drink freshwater fetched from a nearby pond.     & they quickly write
“ingestion”.     
then, add a crystal of common salt,     & seawater snakes down my eyes.
                                 In my room,     my fingers motion,     & they label them
“pseudopodia”.    
i reach for my family's photo album,     & they name it “prey”.     i bury it
in my chest,     & they 
write “ingestion into food vacuole.”      this Amoeba egests waste product,
& my friends call it a rant.

I swear, i'm not in control.