Shahzada
Of course you’ve seen outbursts
of love: your son, a storm of seashells
tossed from a plastic upside-down
green castle. Later, his little hands
offer bird feather bouquets.
What would you know
of seasons underwater?
Spring in Atlantis,
its unusual fish with fog lamps
roam the forever-night.
Would you have called
it gold if you saw it?
Your hotel room
with its one-way mirror
and balcony of darkness,
drowned candle holder
bolted to your bedside.
You’d wake and stretch
and float, godlike,
down to breakfast.
What welds a heart?
Sulfur and spark,
unbearable light.
When you first nested him
between your elbows,
you knew your heart
held the power
as you always hoped it would.
He, the blood moon
sliced by shoreline.
In his stare,
weightlessness.
Back then, did you know
your fortune?
A simple fist
wrapped snug
around your pointer finger.
Guess the pressure.
You fused
the second you felt his pull
when he, too,
arrived from the ocean
to move and quake the tides
around your restless vessel.
Was it real? Does it matter?
How love can move us through
the dark, show us unknown depths,
and hold us when we’re lost below.
• • •
Photo Credit: Joe Henson
Ben Hyland’s poetry is collected in four chapbooks – most recently, Shelter in Place (Moonstone Press, 2022) – and has been featured in multiple journals, including Beloit Poetry Journal, Columbia Review, and Comstock Review. As a career coach, Ben has helped hundreds of jobseekers find employment, even throughout the pandemic. Readers can connect with him and follow his work at www.benhylandlives.com.