“Helix” by Karen George

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The winds blew wild
when we reached the resort.
Storms had blighted the beach
with seaweed blackening as it dried—
a wave of decay as far as we could see.

It reminded me of spirulina,
powder we blended in smoothies
after your cancer diagnosis,
emerald green that stained our tongues,
tasted bitter, raw. You said,
It has to be good; it smells like the sea.

Found in tropical lakes,
distant cousin to kelp algae,
it’s named for its spiral strands—
an ancient life form
the Aztecs called tecuitlatl.

After you died, I couldn’t
consume it, but opened
the container for months
to inhale its dark musk.

-Karen George

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