Turbulence & Fluids

By karla k. morton

A new poetry collection by 2010 Texas Poet Laureate, karla k. morton.  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Madville Publishing
• Release date: Apr 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781956440348

karla k. morton

karla k. morton is a professional speaker, award-winning author, photographer, the 2010 Texas Poet Laureate, and a member of the Texas Institute of Letters. Described as “one of the more adventurous voices in American poetry,” she has been featured on Good Morning Texas, NPR, PBS, ABC News, CBS News and in countless newspapers, blogs, and magazines. Find her online at texaspoetlaureate.com.

Book preview

Conversation with Water

We come to you gently enough,

our clever mathematicians

sizing up

the circumference of a baby’s head,

the depth of a keel,

the heft of a truck—

with only six inches, we can lift steel

like a barbell.

We don’t like Styrofoam or plastics;

we have no taste for wood.

But humans intrigue us:

finless, gill-less,

taunting our power in submarines,

casting chemicals into our great open mouths.

Yes, we are angry,

fists of current holding your ankles

like jealous mermaids,

hissing in waterspouts,

open-handed slaps of waves

against your boat.

But in rain, we are terrified—

abandoned, separated,

rushing, taking everything with us

in our panic down to sea level;

we must always find our own.

Draw a bucket up from the river—

it’s all about the escape, the spill,

but captured in a cup, we’re calm,

knowing the human is 60% water,

holding the light till we are swallowed.

But enter you humans:

you curious, unpredictable, fitful creatures

who try to tame us

with chlorine and cement.

We know all your secrets.

Each word you’ve uttered is still held

in our liquid space;

your screams never stop vibrating

and make the minnows nervous.

When you step in the ocean,

we come licking, calculating, watching.

You may have your way with us

up to your chin,

but we wield all the power

in that one tiny inch

above your nose.

Fish Multiplication

Then he took the five loaves and the two fish in his hands, and, looking up to Heaven, he thanked God, broke the loaves and passed them to his disciples who handed them to the crowd. Everybody ate and was satisfied.

—Matthew 14:13-21

He drove in, early morning,

unassuming in his white pickup,

stopping at the river,

raising that holding tank lid,

then pulling out a smaller tank

to open in the water.

Curious, I crept up

to witness this stocking of trout,

surprised that the fish didn’t scatter—

but turned together, heads first,

as though stunned at the feel

of currents

stroking their speckled bodies

for the very first time,

moments later, disappearing.

Hundreds of fishermen

wade this river every day,

their catch, limp on a string

like thin, silver bananas,

so many hungers sated.

I hope when they pull their chairs

up to the table, they taste

the prayer of thanks

that flowed through those gills,

God, smiling in his white baseball cap,

driving quietly out of town.

Iced Tea

We always knew this day would come,

just not this afternoon,

on his birthday.

You cannot lift him