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harpooning-whales

Bidding farewell to the longest January in recorded memory, a sonnet in the Shakespearean tradition felt apt.

~~~

Harpoons of scorn drive deep into the eye,
intent to wound apparent from their sharp
acuity…and yet, despite scorn’s wry
dissent, I cannot help but feel my carp
resembles fishy bones a parent threw
in lieu of longed affection. Let me be,
this spongy mind cried out, whatever you
would most approve. A whale like you must see
more wisely than this plankton with her nose
toward warmer seas—but, wait! Your blubber that
I once did aggravate lies in repose
and has for years, for coral to grow fat.
So now, as wailer of my fate, I yearn,
then see I’m free to barb. Avast, blind tern!

© Elaine Stirling, 2017
Image from New Bedford Whaling Museum

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