for Seanan & Mira
\nWhen they carved the desk, a necessary place
\nto keep paper from molding and aging,
\nthey cried as they stripped curves
from the world. Flat surfaces repelled
\ntheir sodden flesh like oil vomiting out
\nwater. A necessary compromise with
land and light. To touch it was pain,
\nso one with clever claws whittled
\nwhalebone with webbed fingers, forming
the creatures of the depths, all soft swirls
\nand terrible teeth, simple pulls for
\nsmall drawers, taxonomy complexifying
as they went, until they made the tripartite Lord
\nfor the centerpiece. A sealskin blotter,
\nsquid inks, scrimshaw pens, no chair needed.
Built up from there, a house to keep the
\nyoung in, for a time, to keep them always
\nin sight and sound of their mother sea.
The desk remained, doing its duty to keep
\nthe blessed damp from the fragile paper
\nthat said they owned this place entire,
according to the law that thought it ruled
\nthe tide. When it was moved, something was lost
\nwith the gain, but there were new discoveries,
a scion to bring the cousins, new tech that died
\nin water. If it meant the papers were
\ntoo far from the sea for comfort, nothing lasts
against the ocean. Better they be full
\nof new kin before the time when dead trees
\nwould cease their pretender rule. The knobs
absorb the light, twist cunningly around
\nthe eye, delight the relations who come,
\ncurious, first to visit, then to stay. Not yet
the new age, not the promised time when
\nthe earth will again fear the Lord and the tide.
\nThe desk has time enough to carry out
the last of its purpose, to hold back the last greedy
\ndirt until it succumbs, with all, to sand
\nand the cubic weight of water's embrace.
© 2025 Elizabeth R McClellan
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