Ekphrastic 23/The Drowning Girl: A Memoir

I begin in winter. Me, Winter.
(I beg in winter.)
Slow veined, should have shut off the water
for the season.

An avalanche from her mouth, her singing
down my throat
bisecting me from my summer legs
my wolf legs.

Sea-wolf, the orca is called
but she’s no killer and neither are they, so none of this is true.
And her name is Trawl, urchin salmon and stipe-threaded
she approaches the cannery.

Back in summer.
Seasons on a clockface.
What mysteries he made of your esophagus.

How you try to howl as you smile.

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I just can’t stop writing about this book.  If my fingers touch my keyboard, the words I write are marked by it.  Next week, I’ll write something resembling a review for The Drowning Girl: A  Memoir and maybe try to figure out this obsession.

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