Ruiyan Zhu
PAEAN FOR THE TOYS ‘R’ US SEAHORSE
In the corner of my room, between
two magazine pages and a paperclip
gone brittle with rust, a seahorse
rocks back and forth to a silent song
we remember from my childhood.
Do you remember the morning
you bought it, the Toys “R” Us fluorescents
blinking extra imagination into its eyes?
I understand now that, as a mother
who could not lull her child to sleep, you saw
in its rocking belly what you couldn’t see
in yours: an endless lullaby, no limit
to its movement. To the inevitability of song.
For years, I held that teal body still
faintly warm, even now, from the nights
it zipped us both into a kind of sleep.
One where the moon carved our dreams
into coins, one where those coins clinked
through the mouth of an old milk jar.
Some nights, I confess, I still hold it–pressed
to my ribs, so close I swear I can feel its breath.