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.