Oppenheimer Maps His Coordinates

After so much time in the desert
I'm always finding myself at water.

The blue and bloated little men
point to the back of my head and warn,

you have no friends on that shore.

I collect them in a net
and probe them, my little cadavers.

Little brains, little hearts.
Mine—and cute, like the jarred fetal pig in biology class.

I made these.
They call me father.

Copyright © 2009 Cynthia Lowen All rights reserved
from Black Warrior Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission