one island at a time.
archipelago is my last name
but I spell it with two "A"s
as a fail-safe
We all want a fail-safe from disappearing
we all want to be in swimming distance
from one rock to the next.
I can't comment on my beaches
Tourists don't have a lot to compare me to,
and the weather's too stormy to attract settlers.
No homesteading.
Manifest destiny moves through my underwater caves.
It's always some big country's submarine
with properly labeled warheads poking out.
I must be part of the spice trade,
or part of the slave trade,
or maybe just a haven for prostitutes and sailors.
My lower back does feel a little gritty.
I'm not typical islands
not tropical but not wintery
jellyfish eyelashes
and tortoise egg moles
I'm a creature preserve,
but I'm not sure which ones.
I think they're mythical, winged, and green.
Everyone mistakes them for manatees.
We're all mistaken for manatees sometime.
When ships crash at my shores,
everyone floats and sticks together
like bubbles.
It's the champagne volcano.
I form a new shore every new year.
Cheers to impossible resolutions
like pangea.
I will never be that together.
I can't imagine the missing link
making a pilgrimage across me.
But my upper chest does feel a bit walked on.
