The Beached Whale
It is dawn and
I’ve never seen light quite like this
and how thin
the air is
how easily the sound travels
frogs fat in the mud
reeds chirping red-tailed hawks
I know that soon
the black-eyed gulls will sing
along the riverbend of my back
human children will cradle
my vertebrae
with all the gentleness that
they have
such a gift
I’ve never seen light quite like this
and how thin
the air is
how easily the sound travels
frogs fat in the mud
reeds chirping red-tailed hawks
I know that soon
the black-eyed gulls will sing
along the riverbend of my back
human children will cradle
my vertebrae
with all the gentleness that
they have
such a gift
waves crack like eggshells along the side of me
all rubbed raw and stinging
my breath comes whistling and foaming
noise-ripped and cold
I can hear everything
chewing up the air
blood-hunting in fog-hung fields
my body will bleach here
and de-sinew here
I know too that
my bones
salt scrubbed and white
won’t last either
to be sucked back into the sea
to return
Emma Janssen is a writer from the Bay Area in her final year at the University of Chicago. When she isn’t reading, writing, or doing math, she can be found biking and chasing after street cats. Her work has been published in Scrawl Place and LitHub’s Micro podcast, among others.
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