Judith Borenin

Judith Borenin has been published in The Raven Chronicles:Last Call, The Floating Bridge Press Review IV, Ethel Zine 3 among other journals and have a mini-poetry book coming this summer. I have been writing poetry since being thrust upon a convent in Australia when I was in the fourth grade. I survived the Great Alaska Quake of ’64. I’ve moved so many times I have a continual ringing in my ears.

Beneath A Sea Tightly Wrapped

 

 

Bottle green low tide. Kelp

and seaweed curl wide rusty

 

tendrils around shipwrecked

piling stumps. They undulate –

 

impaled in place – arranging

themselves into changing shapes

 

of wild finned fish swimming

beside half buried sarcophagi –

 

cracked sides split – spilling

limbs and loose strands of

 

streaming hair in the singing

current as it gently shifts with

 

little ripples towards the sun.

 

Carapace almost camouflaged –

a crab clings to a barnacle poxed

 

piling – its stained ivory pincer

blindly taps its way an inch

 

above the water line as it climbs

then disappears. In the slight breeze

 

a whiff of sliced watermelon washes

in with the incoming tide. A blue

 

cellophane sheen sheets the glistening

sea obscuring the unravelings below

 

where schools of illusions glide.

 

 

Slow Turns On A Shaft

 

 

How mutely they fly – shrieks

astonished in their throats – silenced

 

by the splayed wind’s hand pressed

over unblinking eyes.

 

Some drift like wet clothes pinned

to wind limbs – wings hinged –

 

hung out to dry.

 

Some – wings opal blades – levitate

and twirl parsing

 

the rind of grey sky.  

 

Veins still whistling with grief –

astonished as I watch –

 

how these slow seamless turnings

sculpted with graceful

 

strokes carve out dimensions of loss.