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Keith Jebb

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nantucket

there’s a mushy whale out beyond the grasp
the reach of       backed by the horizon’s
thread a hundred miles across       & what

the whale sings its krill-kill blues
isn’t      & doesn’t      even know it’s
not a fish      it’s mushy and eats fry

a shuttle weaving the waves      so
call me Emael      it’s a green whale
on a white sea      and it slaps its

tail     at me        and the sky slides by
towing clouds     and the islands’ unturned
turtles      and the 101010101010 of ships

that sadly chase whales      blubbering
and this whaleship always sinking and
bobs up      doesn’t even know that

it’s the bath      its hold of manacled
albatrosses     bound for back again
we trade for bones      and love that thinks

it’s a fish      and the sun skims the sea’s
selvedge      and the sails shrug      and the
whale’s semaphor      tail/up tail/down

and the song of the      deep in the bilges’
cathedral      the albatrosses hear      in
the oily hold      where the sun doesn’t know

it’s not a puddle      and because of love
and because of not love      and because of
waves      and whales      and the black manes

 

Page(s) 87

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