Alexandra de Romen


It has no harbor

You couldn't call it an island

The sea leveled its top half,
       and the bottom became a whale bed

The whales don't like it

Today, it sounds like mouthing masochist.

You could call it a slow archipelago
or inebriated atoll

You wouldn't call it that

It has no presence, no pluck

The whales don't like it

Plankton kicked it over during their dank riots

It reminds me of a lost and lame puppy

It thought about limping to Canada

You couldn't call it an island

You call it my homeland, your
       wedding ring, our opening
       window and arctic cradle

Alexandra de Romen, a native New Mexican, was raised on a steady diet of tall tales and superstitions. One of her poems has appeared in Vine Leaves Literary Journal. She currently lives near Albuquerque.

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