Beach House by McCaela Prentice
I did not see the whale breach the water
but here we are talking about God again.
the cirrocumulus clouds today at least look viperine-
look like a thing with its legs spread. we should salt the windows
or burn a candle all the way through. I’m waiting for a wave
to hit me so hard I bioluminesce. we should over water
all the house plants - we should get sand in the sheets
and sleep in them anyways.
it would rub the skin on my legs smooth-
you have rubbed my chin raw as thirst
but I have since forgotten
the ache that is waking
to your hand in mine.
january 11th, 2020McCaela’s poetry has previously been featured in Hobart, Ghost City Press, Lammergeier Magazine. Her first chapbook, "Junk Drawer Heart", was published with Invisible Hand Press. She is currently living and writing in New York.