In December of 2015, a giant squid swam into Toyama Bay in Japan. A local dive shop owner guided the squid back out to the ocean. The squid clung to the diver’s body using its legs’ suckers. Later, the diver said the squid was “unexpectedly beautiful, its body glowing red.”

Legs spread
then pressed     together
again spread
then pressed then
spread. Then pressed.

You think this is how
any of us get anywhere
you say     ink     ink     ink
but what do you know
about      the feldspar
marbling of my body
about     how cool
to the touch I become
in the dark     ink
ink     ink. I undulate
I’m an arrow shot
straight at the sun.
A hand spread wide
open, each finger reaching
grasping like I once
grasped for you,
for your body.

I just wanted my own sun
to warm my skin red –
my own space spread wide
like a hand in the airy blue
of the sky, the sun –
I don’t keep company
with liars. Open your hands,
show each finger to me.
Show each     honest answer
you have     ink     ink
legs spread     ink
then together.

About the author

Rhiannon Admidas

Rhiannon Conley is a poet and writing instructor living in North Dakota. Her work has appeared in Moonsick Magazine, The Rat’s Ass Review, The Roaring Muse, The North Dakota Quarterly, Grimoire, Whale Road Review and is forthcoming from Literary Mama and Occulum. She was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2016. Her first chapbook, Less Precious, was published by Semiperfect Press in 2017. She writes an irregular newsletter of short poetic essays called Smol Talks and more regularly Tweets @RhiannonAdmidas.