On the boat to Maya Bay Kitty Sak
points to the map of scars on his body,
“Tsunami,” he says, “everything turn black,”
and then he dives into the water as if he’s forgiven it.
We feed bananas to monkeys, which is easy
at first, but they want more, always more,
and by the end they’re hissing, and eventually they
become bored by us. Our lack of bananas.
Someone rolls a joint, the smell overwhelms
those who want to smoke go to the back of the boat
where everything is Rasta.
The scars are like teeth marks, except
there was no animal. Kitty Sak takes a drag,
coughs out a laugh despite his
jagged skin, “Good shit,” he says.
On Kho Phi Phi island all arrows point up,
it is the only thing that makes sense, the only way to go.
I’m enamored by the woman who runs our guest house,
we pay three dollars a night, there are no windows but I
don’t care because she tells me I’m pretty, makes
me papaya salad, crushes chili peppers into it with her
bare hands, “I find you boyfriend,” she promises me.
When the tsunami came, first the water pulled
back, in preparation, the fish scammered to shore,
and the hungry people went running into the
water, grabbing the slippery silver flesh by
the handful, thinking about how lucky they were.
How they didn’t even have to work for it.
A loud breath, everything swallowed whole,
even the elephants followed the arrows, stampeding
towards the sun, gathered those they could with their
trunks. And Kitty Sak climbed that tree, hands
gripping coconuts, waited however
long it took for everything to turn black.