
Carol grew up in Detroit, studied at Wayne State University…
Thoughts of Athena, Octavia, and Kali, giant
Pacific octopusus, swirl in my head as I stand
in my kitchen cutting vegetables for a winter soup.
What if evolution had taken a different turn?
Instead of two arms, I might have eight tentacles
covered with suction cups, little brains inside
each appendage. How quickly I’d chop carrots,
onions, celery, spinach, okra, zucchini, mushrooms,
grate ginger, crush whole garlic cloves. Perhaps
I’d hold eight knives at once slicing, dicing.
What if I’d been granted their sensory receptors,
tasting what I handle through my skin, epithelial
cells absorbing vegetable knowledge in a language
we’ve yet to learn. Tentacles with unquenchable
curiosity the way they figure out puzzles, open child-
proof lids. Imagine shaking the hand or touching an arm
of a friend or stranger, knowing immediately what
the person feels through touch; their fear, joy,
anxiety, anger, sadness, excitement. We’d know when
to step away, when to offer a hug, or simply listen
to what they need to say. And if, like Athena,
each of my suckers could lift 30 pounds, I’d carry
this heavy pot with the equivalent of one finger.
Each arm with a mind of its own performing
eight tasks at once. Who knew on the Polynesian
island of Moroéa, an eight-sided church that only
revers sea life, believes the octopus God, Na Kika,
son of the first beings, connected land and sea,
heaven and earth, past and present, people and
animals with his powerful arms. Consider the mystery
of consciousness, sentience—how the mind’s own
tentacles keep reaching, exploring in the laboratory
of our brain. This soup scents my house now with
an unlikely blend of various herbs, vegetables. Broth
a mingling of flavors for a richness difficult to describe.
Consider these otherworldly creatures, Athena, Octavia,
Kali, trusting their human keepers, accepting their
touch at the aquarium. A changed person in some
small way, my old fear of the octopus now dispelled
by a simple book I could not put down until two A.M.
when I sank into my the dream world, searched new
realms with long appendages, and octopus claws.

Carol grew up in Detroit, studied at Wayne State University where she pursued Fine Arts, Poetry, and Education. She taught elementary school and spent summers counseling. While raising three children, she was a docent at Cranbrook Institute of Science preparing fossils, and was the Poetry Editor for The MacGuffin at Schoolcraft College for 25 years. Her poetry has appeared in such journals as The Gettysburg Review, The Southern Review, Natural Bridge, and many others. She’s been nominated for Pushcart and Best New Poets.