d.s. maolalai

The Object

on the tide
fumbles in,
out and in.
swampy
as a spider,
legless and scum
twisted, some weight
on a piece of loose
string. the object
is dead,
and the body
a dolphin.
rotten on tidelines
and reeling,
banging with illness
at the wharfside
stone wall—
muted percussion
like the sound
of a lightly drummed
pillow. death
flopping over—belly
flashing white, exposing
like a turning bird
on the windline. and death
moves—is anything moving
so dead?

about

DS Maolalai (he/him/his) has been nominated nine times for Best of the Net and five times for the Pushcart Prize. His poetry has been released in two collections, “Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden” (Encircle Press, 2016) and “Sad Havoc Among the Birds” (Turas Press, 2019).