Sea Legs

Sea Legs

Whales began in the water, but soon
developed legs to bathe warmly in the sun
inevitably, they returned to the sea not unmarked
for thousands of years breathed the blue still with hind legs trailing
What preceded their return? What let them leave the sky behind?
What can the whales’ wandering teach us about the world?

We teared up over train tracks, and I spit in the wind
wiped the sprinkle from my eye and slid my hand
across the smooth yellow painted lane line
the dirty wetness stained my hand in round welts
I slapped you with a handful of asphaltum
just to have you stained the same

But I like hearing swallows through your jawbone
though much smaller than that of a whale, it’s warm
and near to me. I’m not good on boats, the sea still
causes me fear– somehow. Me, a modern woman with
the much longed for ancient sky accessible by robot
flighted birdships. Could I wallow back and slide in again?

A jawbone is a kind of door, isn’t it? It’s a form communication uses, speaking your mind-the
literal movement of wind from your lungs, a physical connection lovers believe in, rely upon
some whales open their gargantuan doors to krill, crabs, plankton, Jonahs
The Meadows Jawbone Arch, a door of the sea made landmark
is open perpetually in a park in Edinburgh
though has been branded a risk to pedestrians, recently

might I heed its warnings