By Devon Balwit
The Koi in today’s pond know nothing of yesterday’s earthquakes. They swim in and out of sky, light reflecting through Japanese maples, all opalescent scales, mouths opening to the same roundness whether or not hundreds of souls take another breath. The Koi weave slow patterns beneath the footbridge, visible, invisible, like dreams that break the surface then disappear. If they feel the shifting of tectonic plates, the yielding of re-bar, their languid fins say nothing. Suffering troubles us alone as now they congregate, now they swim apart, sacerdotal and mysterious.
Devon Balwit is the author of 6 chapbooks and three collections. Her individual poems can be found in St Katherine Review as well as in The Cincinnati Review, Psaltery & Lyre; Rattle; Peacock Journal; Free State Review; and more.
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