Ella Says
There’s no way around the grief
at endings. The autocorrect
on my daughter’s phone replaced:
“the doctors can’t find the IUD”
with “the Devil that is.”
“the doctors can’t find the IUD”
with “the Devil that is.”
What exquisite algorithm lands us
in the presence of demons?
in the presence of demons?
I am back on my boat plotting
coral reefs and noting the tiny
numbers on charts,
coral reefs and noting the tiny
numbers on charts,
fathoms deep, seconds
between oscillating lights.
between oscillating lights.
No one navigates like that anymore.
We are all tethered puppets to walking stars.
Ella’s face freezes.
We are all tethered puppets to walking stars.
Ella’s face freezes.
The signal’s too remote and there’s
a delay before we can start again.
a delay before we can start again.
Sonograms like deep
ocean floors, sea creatures mapped
in the body, whales singing
ocean floors, sea creatures mapped
in the body, whales singing
bats echolocating.
When green and red lights lifted
When green and red lights lifted
to mark a harbor’s entrance, I spotted
relief and sadness, dropped anchor, furled sails.
I tell my daughter she can always
relief and sadness, dropped anchor, furled sails.
I tell my daughter she can always
come home. Sometimes there’s
no other way to round grief’s equations.
no other way to round grief’s equations.
