Poet’s Note: Orca: A killer whale, Hussy: a term used for a woman who engages in inappropriate sexual activities, Flounder: A kind of fish, Fingers crossed behind the back: The act of lying with fingers crossed. An old superstition to ward off bad luck while doing the same.
Did you see the orcas? He types.
The heart a shameless hussy, starts
leaping up and down the waves.
Glancing out the side-scuttle,
I shriek in ecstasy, everybody
else too joins in, we are a chorus
of euphoric yells; a collective scream,
as an Orca releases its body into
the air, falling back with a ponderous
splash, a quivering/ shivering tail, as if
it had said its piece, showed us
what seethes beneath the calm.
My mouth opens then closes
like a flounder caught in a net.
Then the cheering recedes, and I
nervously, step back into my body.
I have lost my voice; I am drowning in
an ocean of a thousand dialects.
In a few minutes, the evening arrives.
I pull my borrowed coat tighter,
and lick the salt on my lips.
The words swell up inside me then die.
I can never say what I feel but I want
to keep him safe in a poem.
A fishbone is stuck in my gullet.
I bypass the question, and thank him
for asking. I don’t want to talk about whales.
I tell my companions he is nothing
more than a friend.
I keep my fingers crossed behind my back.
DoubleSpeak 