In Reykjavik I sip birch bark tea, eat spotted catfish wrapped in moss.
The wide mind takes it all in. The mouth swallows
black lava salt and parts of creatures that once had scales, hooves, wings.
Will I eat carrot but not cow? Sheep not dog,
pig not horse, pheasant not cormorant? Or puffin, charming thieves
with parrot beaks who don’t hunt their own food
but steal other birds’ prey. Humpbacks take in schooling fish,
and I taste minke whale, disguised in lime sauce on a white plate.
God sees everything I do, being with me, being in, consuming
what I consume. Fish eyes stare up at us,
make a face on the plate. Unnumbered, the eyes of god.
Carol Westberg has had poems published in Prairie Schooner, Hunger Mountain, CALYX, DMQ Review, North American Review, and other journals.