All Arrows Point Up

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.