Florida Sad Boys



In the Everglades, we search for caimans,
white as dead pearls in the murk.

Boy fingers a comb made for parting
each otherís hair like long grass.

I cannot find the animal, but the boy
finds three, points and shouts.

*

He tells me his grandfather kills large fish
for a living. I imagine an older man on a boat:

a spear through the animal, scales
peeled from flesh in long, lush strips.

Dried and packaged, they remind me
of reef: pink and so damaged.

*   

In the pool by the sea, he presses himself against me
and I break into glimmer and salt.

We speak only when necessary.
I want to be the boy who loves everything:

our voices like tired fish, the two kinds of water
we learn and unlearn, everything greening towards night.


________________________________________

Aidan Forster is a junior in the creative writing program at the South Carolina Governor's School for the Arts and Humanities in Greenville, South Carolina. He is the blog editor of The Adroit Journal and the co-founder/editor-in-chief of Fissure. He has work in or forthcoming from The Adroit Journal, Assaracus, Indiana Review, Pleiades, and Verse, among others.