#inktober 12. WHALE

I had intended to write about whales whilst sitting on the cliff looking out to sea. The wind was so strong, with squally rain, that the car became the only place to write. Balancing an ink pot (somewhere) and writing round a steering wheel in a wildly rocking car certainly added humour to the poem! I find I’m enjoying the daily jottings more. I’m less resistant to the practice. I like making the time.


What is leading the whale

as it banks with a continuous

pulse, in cells, out of cells, energy

rolls up my arm, twists

over in my chest, down

the other arm, over over, pliable

eight until the room joins in the wave

to crescendo into the street, veil

the river, its ozone scents

my breath, as weather charts me

out into purest arctic oxygen

and fixes in my myoglobin

for the sounding dive of my life.


Bionote scans can draw my tired

chest tape in several screens, a tiny spot

barely nearly not there is a nice thing to say

yes barely nearly not there and yet

tiny spot opens wide jaws wide saying

the laws of emptiness leave you

your daily blessings and marshmallows,

and an elk, soft emblem of inner survival

like a padded notebook, making marks

on the tundra, where going home

is a hope feeling, determined

by the practical prayer of steps

in a shrinking isolation of ice.



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