Erin Murphy

Taxonomy of Canals

Panama, Amsterdam, Venice. Root canals.
Birth canals. The C&D Canal where I biked
with my son tucked into a toddler seat
as oceangoing ships from Russia and China
slid past. Such a brief passage. My son
waved to the men on deck. The men waved back.
They were just passing through. We were, too.

Taxonomy of Mica

Geological eczema, slivers of silvery
grayish-brown, shimmer in eye shadow
and metallic paint, the glint in South Asian
scarves. It’s complicated we say now
when relationships are layered, flaking
in our fingers like phyllo pastry shells. How
much can we lose and still be ourselves?

Taxonomy of Moths

Shale confetti flitting against
a white wall. We tried but failed
to make ourselves small, slipping
sideways through doors to leave
them in the night. Moth: so close
to mouth. They’re drawn to light
like us. Like us, they turn to dust.

Taxonomy of Rivers

The sinewy muscle of the Mississippi,
the Yangtze, the Nile. Susquehanna,
Rappahannock, Monongahela, Chicopee:
words gurgling over tongues. The sashay
of estuaries, ebbing and flowing
like tango dancers, all moon and mood:
give and take, take and give, love and hate

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