whale shadows move far off, dark mouths slipping above wave crest
above sea foam that always makes me think of the little mermaid
by hans christian andersen, how she chose to become that wisp of white
haunting the edges of brittle blue deep rather than live in service to a man.
i don’t hear the whales but imagine their song, remember the cassette i bought
in high school, lying in bed staring at the crinkled ceiling and out the wedge
of apartment window into the rectangle puzzle of night shapes, listening to
that mourning otherworldly moan, space creatures crying to each other
in the night. tonight, i want to cry like that, loud and long, a dirge underwater.
i want someone to answer back, to find me with their ancient ear, to hold me
with their response, the watery kiss of their listening, to echo back
the bones of this heart.

Jill Kitchen

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