The Crab Scenario
Kiran Bonner
Garbage is indestructible, so I think we should worry more
about the evolution of hermit crabs. So long as
the world is emptier and harder than their bodies,
they will take on anything as shelter. Don’t you think
all those calcium shells were expecting to be
sand by now? Soon, trash island will crawl up
human island one #30FF60* bottle
at a time, assuring us that there will be no going
quietly in the migration this year.
We couldn’t destroy it, so how will we
get rid of the crabs? A species that evolves
like that has to grow huge as goldfish
in an oversize tank of safety. There’s no shortage
of upgrades for their growing mass:
filing cabinets, old couches, those tiny
cars from Italy. That can’t be right, you’ll tell
yourself and your neighbors, who saw
a suspicious churning in the dumpster.
Here’s the scenario I keep drilling into
my head:
I’m having a nice conversation
with a new friend, a flirtation even. The breeze
of adrenaline is the change of pace I’ve been
waiting for. Things have been monotonous lately,
and I’m optimistic about how far a little inspiration
will go to start up those adored habits
that fall by the wayside now and then. It’s funny,
I think, that all I needed was this to remember
how to read the world like an atlas. Then, as sudden
as an earthquake, my childhood home dredges
the valley as it ambles over the horizon.
*Screamin’ Green™
Route
Scientifically, no one knows
where baby sea turtles go between
their infancy and seasoned, adult
lives. We see fledgling turtles, then
later, we see elders in pocked shells
on the same beaches. Presumably,
they disappear on rumspringa, or
are so deeply confused, they end up
in the wrong layer of the ocean,
where everything is too dark. It
makes sense they would return
older, they must, we keep seeing new
old turtles walking around. After all
these years, we still haven’t seen
it, but keep cheering on the little pucks
that reach the water, our joy
built on knowing they must
come back. Where else
would they even dream
of going?
Scientifically, no one knows
where baby sea turtles go between
their infancy and seasoned, adult
lives. We see fledgling turtles, then
later, we see elders in pocked shells
on the same beaches. Presumably,
they disappear on rumspringa, or
are so deeply confused, they end up
in the wrong layer of the ocean,
where everything is too dark. It
makes sense they would return
older, they must, we keep seeing new
old turtles walking around. After all
these years, we still haven’t seen
it, but keep cheering on the little pucks
that reach the water, our joy
built on knowing they must
come back. Where else
would they even dream
of going?
Interview
Kiran Bonner’s winning poem, “The Crab Scenario,” manages to take the climate crisis and our unconscionable amount of garbage and render it lighthearted, even if for only a fleeting moment. The closing image is a delightful exclamation point, but it’s the poem’s conversational, easygoing tone and syntax that drew me in. Kiran’s poems are like my favorite kind of pizza: well-balanced, no single ingredient trying to carry the full load.
This interview has been lightly edited for clarity.
Aram Mrjoian: Part of my logic for wanting to create this prize (and a huge shout out to Variant Lit for housing it!) was based on the fact that writing and pizza-making are both routines for me. They help me develop a weekly rhythm. Do you have writing routines? What goes into your process?
Kiran Bonner: I will start this interview by admitting to the cardinal writers’ sin of having no writing routine in place. I’m neurodivergent, so routines generally do not survive in my day to day. Writing is always a part of how I react to the world around me though, especially when words fail, and like an unexpressed reaction, it bangs on the back of my head until I write something down.
My revision process is much more structured; I’ll sift through my spontaneous drafts to find what intrigues me, then work from there. After a 2nd draft, I leave the poem alone for at least two weeks before touching it again, then repeat. Taking it slow like that always shows me new dimensions in the piece, and that’s when genuinely cool things start to emerge.
AM: One thing I really love about your winning poem, “The Crab Scenario,” is how it balances a serious issue (climate crisis) with humor, especially in the closing image. It aligned perfectly with the kind of work I asked for in the call for submissions. In your mind, how does humor play into your craft?
KB: I feel two ways about humor, the first being unique to the past few years. In a time of constant, acute crisis, humor can be the only way to process things without feeling like you’re looking directly at the sun, and I find it showing up in my writing more lately to reconcile my powerful sense of doom and the unremarkable motions of day-to-day life.
Secondly, in a larger way, humor is an extension of my writing philosophy: that poetry needs to be accessible in order to be fully digested. I abide by Mary Oliver’s statement that poetry “must not be fancy,” and that humor is a way that poetry can remain humble as well as honest. It should be natural of course, but luckily most things are secretly, in addition to their other traits, ridiculous.
AM: Your other selected poem, “Route,” considers the adolescence of sea turtles. With the consistent thematic focus in mind, are you particularly drawn to nature in your poetry?
KB: Absolutely. I am especially interested in nature as a force rather than a setting, and love to focus on how, despite all we know, nature does all kinds of things we can’t justify or explain. I’m less interested in its beauty and more in its omnipresence and artfulness, which isn’t always comforting. For example, I often write about the ocean as a huge, unknowable ether, not unlike a human subconscious (likely because I grew up in a desert), that houses both adorable sea turtles and knife-sharp glaciers the size of asteroids.
AM: As part of the prize, you were able to pass along a free pizza to another writer, who you’ve blurbed for the issue. The goal was for free pizza to be a fun prize for winners, but also to have a communal element. Can you talk a little bit about the importance of a writing community, if you have one?
KB: Community is so necessary, even if it’s not other writers! For me, the priority is surrounding myself with people who inspire me and make me feel validated in my observations of the world. I do have a few friends who are poets and writers, and we trade workshop notes and discuss our work together, which is great. But my writing also benefits from those in my circle who value art and have wonderful things to say about creating in the world, whether it’s a D&D plot, visual art, niche fan fiction, sticker design, interior decorating, or just being an enthusiastic consumer of art. What’s important to me is that they make me feel like writing is worth doing and sharing.
AM: Related, but where did you order your prize pizza from? A local staple or Big Pizza(TM)?
KB: Local, but haven’t ordered just yet! I’m in Portland, OR, so I’m getting a Sizzle Pie.
AM: Best and worst pizza toppings?
KB: Chicken and pineapple are my tops, followed closely by margherita-style toppings. I also love spinach if the base sauce is alfredo/white.
The absolute worst pizza topping on earth is black olives.
AM: In your mind, what makes a good pizza, and what’s the top pizza sin?
KB: A good pizza has enough structural integrity for a slice to be eaten one-handed, but is chewy enough to be scarfed down in moments of passion. Thick/thin crust doesn’t matter as long as the crust is standalone delicious and manages to stay chewy the next day for cold, hungover, breakfast pizza.
The #1 pizza sin is limiting your pizza horizons because you’re from New York.
On nominating another writer:
I will always sing the praises of CA poet Brendan Constantine as an artist and human being. His stark and stunning books of poetry speak for themselves, but he is also a poetry teacher and dedicates a large portion of his life to getting young people excited about what poetry can do. I highly recommend his latest short collection, Bouncy Bounce.
Kiran Jordan Sebastian Bonner is a poet, tinkerer, and reckless creative living in Portland, Oregon. His work has previously appeared in iO Literary Journal and the Love Me, Love My Belly zine from Porkbelly Press. His tiniest poems can be found on Instagram at @miniphor.
© Variant Literature Inc 2021