Ascending from the Deep
Whales can find each other in the darkness of the deep.
Traveling at five miles per hour they push hard
pressing through dense waters with isometric calm
somehow converging in two’s, three’s
or even pods of twenty, uniting
to form a massive, connected presence.
Vibrations help them see. How they experience
other sensations is unknown to those
who see with eyes, hear with ears, smell through nose.
Whale skin, I’m told, is merely as thick
as yours or mine. My own skin, pale and pink,
stings in sub-zero sympathy.
Levitation, called breaching, fills a physical need,
to shake off lice and barnacles buried in their skin.
Whether this brief ascension
brings solace or mere relief
is a matter for others to decide.
Here is what I want to know:
How do they sing?
How do they pray?
1st prize winner and publication in Third Wednesday, Gravity Presses, Winter, 2014
Love is Love is Love, Even if It Doesn’t Take
One summer afternoon you
gave me a rock, cloven in two,
its glorious insides showing.
When I called it my boulder buddy, you said,
“Hey, a rock is a rock is a rock.”
Even now, though I haven’t seen
you for nearly fifty years, I remember this gift
and your words when I need a dash of
perception, perspective, or playful acceptance.
The break-up, painful and swift,
meant putting you in my memory attic.
I read your obituary online after Googling you.
You died from cancer at 59, an architect,
who managed a yearly music festival
in your mountain town where you also
once sat on the city council
and probably – not mentioned in the obit –
smoked pot every day of your life.
Your extensive professional website revealed
someone who felt familiar to me
someone whose character I knew
someone I would probably still fall for at 18
even if I had a chance at do-overs.
Louise Kantro, retired teacher and cat-lover, plays bridge and volunteers as a CASA (court-appointed advocate for foster children). After receiving her MFA in 2003, she has published fiction, creative nonfiction, and poetry. Lately, she has been writing form poems, which provides structure to the many days spent at home.
Whales can find each other in the darkness of the deep.
Traveling at five miles per hour they push hard
pressing through dense waters with isometric calm
somehow converging in two’s, three’s
or even pods of twenty, uniting
to form a massive, connected presence.
Vibrations help them see. How they experience
other sensations is unknown to those
who see with eyes, hear with ears, smell through nose.
Whale skin, I’m told, is merely as thick
as yours or mine. My own skin, pale and pink,
stings in sub-zero sympathy.
Levitation, called breaching, fills a physical need,
to shake off lice and barnacles buried in their skin.
Whether this brief ascension
brings solace or mere relief
is a matter for others to decide.
Here is what I want to know:
How do they sing?
How do they pray?
1st prize winner and publication in Third Wednesday, Gravity Presses, Winter, 2014
Love is Love is Love, Even if It Doesn’t Take
One summer afternoon you
gave me a rock, cloven in two,
its glorious insides showing.
When I called it my boulder buddy, you said,
“Hey, a rock is a rock is a rock.”
Even now, though I haven’t seen
you for nearly fifty years, I remember this gift
and your words when I need a dash of
perception, perspective, or playful acceptance.
The break-up, painful and swift,
meant putting you in my memory attic.
I read your obituary online after Googling you.
You died from cancer at 59, an architect,
who managed a yearly music festival
in your mountain town where you also
once sat on the city council
and probably – not mentioned in the obit –
smoked pot every day of your life.
Your extensive professional website revealed
someone who felt familiar to me
someone whose character I knew
someone I would probably still fall for at 18
even if I had a chance at do-overs.
Louise Kantro, retired teacher and cat-lover, plays bridge and volunteers as a CASA (court-appointed advocate for foster children). After receiving her MFA in 2003, she has published fiction, creative nonfiction, and poetry. Lately, she has been writing form poems, which provides structure to the many days spent at home.
