According to our scholars, the newly birthed Milky Way
was rhinestoned with souls, which proved the soul's
existence. The lifeguards, when asked, said they'd tasted
the hard candy of the soul when they tried reviving
an ocean victim. But we'd always been suspicious of souls.
We knew they could escape because we often heard
their hooves, the slap of their tails. They'd wander off
at night and when we'd wake, we'd feel emptier,
our great finned souls swimming against the current
and further away. We'd cover our mouths when we laughed,
when we yawned. Once they broke out, souls were just a nuisance
to coax back. There was a trap of words the poets had sugared
and we'd take classes to learn how to enunciate without sounding
desperate. When they returned, we'd have to swallow our souls
like the pit of a plum or a vitamin. It could take several days
to feel enriched, to see the sky in the puddles again.
Copyright © Sue Goyette, 2013
