it takes seven quick cuts
for a korean fisherman to undress
a shark. the fins go in an ice bucket,
for soup.
it takes six hard shoves
to plunge the stripped shark overboard,
where unable to steer,
it slips into the sea’s black glove.
I cut the umbilical cords
from my son
and my daughter
and push them off
the world
always fathers send children off to war
with darkness without rudder or spear
a mouth full of teeth
all the way back to cutting
the umbilicus of eden
from adam and even before
as god decided to decide himself
into being cut the fins from his silence.
sloppily separating light from dark,
land from sea,
look at the infant with her mother’s walk,
already inside her
every egg she’ll bleed or bloom
in the clouds of her ovaries,
or the moon lingering in daylight
before growing in the belly of the sky tonight.
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