At Sea
We are at sea on a tall wooden ship with over thirty billowing white sails. But there is no rolling sea. The waves long disappeared in repeated retreats. Only sand now, skulls of antelopes, hollow bones of sparrows, the bleached ribs of a hundred great whales. I am pregnant, full moon with child.
“Push. You must push,” he urges when the time comes. With the last, a thousand yellow canaries flutter from between my spread legs. It’s not what I wanted—I had dreamt of another daughter; one I would name Esme. “Don’t weep,” he says. “You have always loved the sounding of yellow.”
“Push. You must push,” he urges when the time comes. With the last, a thousand yellow canaries flutter from between my spread legs. It’s not what I wanted—I had dreamt of another daughter; one I would name Esme. “Don’t weep,” he says. “You have always loved the sounding of yellow.”
RSS Feed
