“No one leaves home unless home is the mouth of a shark.”
When you hack your breath into a hot air balloon
Make sure that the canvas is dyed dark for the nighttime
Splash it solid and forget the careful batiks from your living room floor
When you row through the transatlantic gusts that are salty-sharp and new
Pretend that it is a breeze on the Queiq, hushing you with its smell of mother’s hands
Like dough and dried flowers, like the hope of rain
When a fresh darkness is kicked up and claws its way through a seamless escape
Thrust your orr through the westward air,
gather into your arms the artillery of a quiet night
and push yourself into the zephyr, into the splinters
ahead, the promise of nothing.
LAURA FAIRGRIEVE received her MFA from Adelphi University, where she currently teaches. She is a 2016 recipient of the Poets & Writers Amy Award. Her work has appeared in Underwater New York, Inscape Magazine, Ink in Thirds, The Bitchin' Kitsch, East Coast Ink, and Words Dance Publishing. She lives in Brooklyn. Contact her at laurafairgrieve.com.