By Laine Derr and Carolina Torres

Raised on plantains and fish

we knew our way through rocks.

Days by the river until our hearts

swelled, belts loaded with loss –

intestines thrown back to the blue.

Breakfast: scales picked from teeth,

soup washed wild swimming in skin.

Stealing awake, we leave tobacco

for Mohan, a night singer, limbs

like currents – strong, dangerous.

A long-haired god, like us, lifting

forbidden life, grinning spirit

casting forest nets, bounties tasting

of little ones raised on life, on death.

Laine Derr holds an MFA from Northern Arizona University and has published interviews with Carl Phillips, Ross Gay, Ted Kooser, and Robert Pinsky. Recent work has appeared or is forthcoming from Full Bleed + The Phillips Collection, ZYZZYVA, Portland Review, Chapter House, Prairie Schooner, and elsewhere.

Carolina Torres is a Biologist and Public Health researcher who enjoys the arts and literature. As a scientific author, she has published in peer-reviewed journals within the biomedical field. Her writing, mostly prose, is a practice for spiritual reflection.