Leveler Poetry Journal
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Do You Want to Go to Havana


I went snorkeling in the Florida

Keys and forgot a map, just

skimmed over some barracuda

the size of my dining room

table, but didn’t see him

because I was too seasick in

the water. The feeling worse

flipper slipping on a metal ladder.

The feeling gets worse when I want

to go home. So I go further up. An orchard

doesn’t hold tall tress but I

feel worse up there too, but keep

reaching because I see where the

good ones are. Otherwise, who’d

eat them? Birds? Only after

the skin softened into fermented orbs,

the innards a bad tune stuck in your head.

I want to feel grounded again but keep

stepping on magic carpets. They’re

not pleasurable, misinformed examples

of transportation. There are times when

I place a palm to a field to

thank it, for its life and for not

moving, but even fields walk

through countrysides and into forests.

An inch a year is a careful thought

of where to go next. When I text you I’m not sure

you understand my meaning of kinematics.

I say, let’s be gone, barracuda on a plane,

apple on a boat, a wave

in the passenger seat—however

you want to get there.

Amy Sauber