WHILE IN CAPTIVITY
HELEN VITORIA
Count the shark’s replacement teeth,
make a conveyer belt or a cookie cutter
of the loose ones. Leave bruises on the
windowsill, watch them become
a mosaic, a crystal block then-
brand your shoulders, tattoo the word
February on your forearm, carry one part
per million of blood on a poker chip into
the jawed root cellar, see bite marks in a
mirror, dilate your pupils.