51
We Romance the Small Violences
by Abigail Kirby Conklin
After a sudden snap in spring,
when daffodils hang rag-necked.
The ocean, borne down upon
by a purpling sky. Lightning
cracking. Whales
turning
over beneath, and far enough from shore
to be no longer beasts,
the size of ceilings or freight cars,
but silken interruptions. Whales,
tearing the fabric of their Earth
as they fall against it;
breach
break
breach
break.