Spelunker
by Holly Day
Somber cathedral unseen beneath
Winged choirs of bats flutter somewhere up above
for a million years
the marching feet of men, phosphorous mushrooms, the Candlemas
that lead the blind fish on. I don't know
how many days I've sat here, listening to
the drip of water
nasty water, thick with lime-I'm turning to stone
from the inside out.
their dead eyes watching me, cataloging
my edible parts, the parts that taste best
waiting for me to fall asleep.
So I stay awake. I've sat here
trying to see their furry bodies, thick smears
against the faint incandescence, the only break
in this endless night.
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