Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsSpring 2022  Vol. 21  No. 1
an online journal of literature and the arts
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We waited in the ark’s
cabin, barrels
on the deck to collect
the long-withheld
rain. We listened to it
as if for a heartbeat
at a dead man’s chest.
And, finally, they came.
I could not
see them, and Noah
told me they weren’t
there, they weren’t
but I could hear
their fists against
the hull, nails
ravaging the wood
like animal claws
before we were
lifted, the first swell
like a dizzy spell
when one stands up
too quick. And then
the rush caught
the whole and we were
carried forward. Noah said
some had found a way
to hold on but he beat
their fingers with a spare
plank until they let
go. I stayed
below as I was
told, sick rising
up like suspicion.
I slept when I wasn’t
retching, my dreams
full of lions
savaging their cubs.  

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