A Nano Alien Came by Stealth
by Rose Mary Boehm

Coursing through my veins
is precious, polluted red stuff,
life stuff. The stuff that can clot,
the stuff that can kill.

They say we are 80% water.
Well, we are kind of liquid. Hard
to believe. No pun intended.
I don’t flow, I traipse—from kitchen
to bathroom, to sofa to bed.

The dog yawns. And when he
doesn’t yawn, he brings me the leash.
At least I have an excuse
to walk the seashore. I see curtains
move. Someone observing us.
Once there were witch hunts.
Now, the poop police.

I am still waiting to find
my inner river, recognizing my flow,
learning to navigate the waters
of yesterday’s freedom.

PHOTO: Tiger and TurtleMagic Mountain (walking sculpture, Duisberg, Germany), photo by the author.

AUTHOR’S NOTE ON THE PHOTO: I thought this photograph was illustrative of veins and things in a crazy way.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: I have just been injected with this strange stuff science’s “Eureka” moments are made of. We are all guinea pigs and grateful with it. So far I am fine and look forward to be able to travel again and—maskless—embrace my children and granddaughters. Right now, I am using my neighbour’s dog as an excuse to walk in the park by the sea. They are lending him to me for the purpose. So kind. There are moments when I think I feel the chemical in my veins, but that, of course, is my poet’s imagination at work.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Rose Mary Boehm is a German-born British national living and writing in Lima, Peru. Her poetry has been published widely, mostly in US poetry reviews (online and print). She was twice nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Her fourth poetry collection, The Rain Girl, was published by Chaffinch Press in 2020. Visit her on her website and on youtube.