Spring 2010, Volume 8

Poetry by Eric Chau


A seagull’s beak stabbed through a turtle’s back.
His mushroom shell—a newborn baby’s skull.
Before his siblings had a chance to hatch,
stray dogs unburied the entire clutch,
devoured almost every embryo.

The consequences, if he had survived:
decapitated, amputated, bled—
shell hacked from body, body hacked from shell
(a delicacy); suffocated by
fishing net; shark attack. Ephemeral—

his time on earth, his glimpse of azure moon
and violet twilight coruscating on
inverted sky. Had he lived centuries,
that moment on the beach might have eclipsed
all others as the zenith of his life.

Transcendent burst of neurotransmitters.
By accident is not the only way
to die. To ebb while chasing yourself at
your prime. Pursuing dreams actualized.
Violent memory of a feeling.


BIO: Eric Chau was born and raised in Wichita, KS, and plans to move to New York City. He is a 4th-year Osteopathic medical student and has a bachelorís degree in Creative Writing from Wichita State University. He enjoys playing the piano.