but you really like that one, don’t you.

It’s true. The Loch Ness

monster is one of my

favorite mysteries,

my first cryptozoological research

into something out there

beyond our explanation.

In fourth grade, we watched

a movie about unexplained phenomena

that showed in never-been-seen-before animation

four adorable, long-necked aquatic dinosaurs

swimming freely from the ocean

and up a long canal

inland to the mountains,

swimming, playing, living.

Gradually, as they make their way home,

the water changes, the earth shifts,

mountains turn into the sea.

Slowly the land closes,

until finally

it swallows itself

and forms the lake.

The dinosaurs are cut off

from their species.

Isolated, a few families

alone in a giant mountain lake.

In the cartoon,

their smiling faces turn upside down.

A graph of fish types

pops up on the screen,

and as the years roll by,

the colorful fish

disappear, one by one.

The ones left behind

thrive as best they can,

but the cool rain

mixes with the salt;

the brackish water,

becomes fresher and fresher.

Slowly the dinosaurs,

over a thousand generations,

turn from dinosaurs

to lake monsters,

long and serpentine,

shorter teeth,

wider paddles,

out of space and time,

until finally,

this one tiny lake monster

is the only one left,

afraid

of itself,

lost in a memory

it can’t understand.

It dives into

the loch,

eight hundred feet down

so it isn’t seen,

its bulk too great,

the fish too small,

the pike, the char,

even the stickleback

runs thin.

It doesn’t belong here,

bloated, outdated, long-necked

and long-toothed,

its tail swirling in the choppy waters.

After generations,

it knows that people

are staring at it,

gathering on the shoreline,

the edge of the castle,

near the forest,

to see its murky form

even as it tries

to skim trout near

the surface or see

the colors swirl

in the reflections of the sun

from underneath.

It misses the light,

swims the span of the lake

looking for an opening

between the worlds,

a memory inside

its DNA,

its soul,

something more

that it’s never seen

but can’t stop looking for.

Home,

other creatures like itself.

It needs to know that

it isn’t some mistake.

In the cartoon,

the people on the boat

wear yellow raincoats,

throw a party for Nessie,

celebrate as the three

ancient humps arc out of the water,

and then, in rainbow verse

across the screen

for the viewers,

What do you think?

The tail of the lake monster

coils around the words.

Pick walks over to me,

I look up from my memory,

the book clutched tightly in my hands.

He looks at the pages,

points to a glossy, fake-looking

photo of Nessie.

We should definitely

have some monsters

in the game, he says,

and they should be

fighting for good.

Ketosis

I am eating myself.

My body fights,

accumulates ketones,

fat breaking down,

starving for carbohydrates,

sugar, everything it can remember.

Everything it once knew,