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The potion is not poison

Nava Fader

the ship named esperance
for hanged men and mouths
another honey the badger
take care of the comb
in several trips by then the bees

one for the walkway and ships
nightly under heel til the end never
moved hand from mouth in company

saying you’re surprised
by the end skink sly
hides the last of it
the myth

is the mother
tells the sea
hungry for sailors
but the one who lived

do you fish with hands
or sit on them
webs dry sweat is the same wet
mineral whisper to slim jim
jerky codfish down there
barrels for winter?

Nava Fader

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