Poem By Ruby Honeytip

What a surprise to finally start to see
on your inside, my friend.

I always thought that you only swallow me
Sundays and some other days
like Tuesdays and today.

Woke up this morning with
a clear warning from inside my skull:
to the ocean bed we will dive, again.
Me, ribbed inside my glistening black whale.
But no, what was different about today?

Have you considered the possibility
that your default position is
inside Black's belly, Werner?
Always inside. Her rib cage is
your private shrine. Your carapace.
That may be the reason why
the light startles you so
and sometimes bruises your soul.

Aha …!
So, Black, when we dive, next time
my memory of the light fading
I won't want to light a fire
in your belly again
like that other wooden boy
who postponed his joy until
he became flesh and bone -
with a wooden heart.

Stories inspire me
to dive one more day
with you into my good fight
but I often wonder -
have I truly been broken?

The unused bicycle rusts
next to its working cousin.
Wind rushes through the stink-woods.
A truck hums down the highway.
Life-filled days bring dirty dishes.
Birdsong accompanies rats and mice
rushing to safety
as my footsteps drum closer to our
steamy, pungent compost pit -
the size of a whale's belly.

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