On Finding Moby Dick
by Jeff Santosuosso

That summer I chained the Whale’s carcass,
dragged it across the desert,
hefting the bones,
my steps heavy,
deep-dug into the sand,
the trail a silica wake,
birthing tombs behind it,
a foamless berm trenched within.
A great groove cratered beyond me,
swallowing my footprints,
only the faint few before it
evidence of my self.

The glare, the clanging, the great din
of drag, flies, and maggots,
sweat and sunburn,
the chain around my waist.

I found him, borne him,
released him to the world,
there, alone in the sands,
carrying him the only way I could,
heaving in a tide of nature,
cursing his great white flesh,
wanting him alive to find me,
and set me free.

Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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