Poetry

I Think He Was a Teen

by Ilias Tsagas

On the wooden floor, coiled with handcuffs and leg irons on 
like an embryo — dead.
But no, slaves were shackled standing.
Judging from the size of the cuffs 
his wrists must have been thin. 
Behind the glass 
at the Maritime Museum in Greenwich 
the leg irons remain locked 
holding the soul of this lad.

Appeared in Issue Spring '22