Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Thirty-four
Spring 2014
 
Narwhals
Abigail Bautista

We have left our sepulture bedroom,

hidden under eaves and over the sea

as the equinox wanders slowly south.

Now we are bound to our bodies

as we are bound across cities.

We are cruising across states, our

minds drifting through the continents,

all our windows painted shut

against the first crack of hoarfrost.


Still we mourn our longest days:

how we drank whiskey and seawater,

how we fed oysters to the cats,

how we cracked open every claw

to suck out the meat,

how we promised we will

never swim in the same ocean again.

About Abigail Bautista

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