A MEMORY AT THE CELLULAR LEVEL


An iris cloud sings static.  To survive it separates its echo into slow and
cotton, then sinks into further sleep. It wakes in the shape of a tentacle.
In an unperformed memory, sea urchins swell.  When an undercurrent
grazes their shells they remember cell division. The salt it makes. How
their yellow meat mists.










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Matthew Mahaney is the author of Your Attraction to Sharp Machines (BatCat Press 2013). Other poems have recently appeared in Caketrain, Colorado Review, Birdfeast, ILK, and Skydeer Helpking.