Unknown

The dry wind came back today, a trace of smoke on its heels
I'd almost forgotten what it smelled like

I inhaled deeply and felt dormant embers catch and flare inside me
Fourteen years burning up in a matter of seconds

Back then I had thought that perhaps things were over
That things had ended badly, but ended nevertheless

Perhaps not

Tomas Silva

We all knew that the Izabel was going down
We all knew that we were going down with her

The eight of us gathered below deck
Rough men, seasoned sailors
Taking burning swigs of aguardente as we passed the bottle around
Listening to the wooden planks creak and snap as the wind screamed through the sails above

I'd always known that I'd die at sea
Better there than landlocked in a lifeless marriage
Better there than anchored to a woman
who didn't know me at all

Marcos stared at me from across the table
Set his glass down with deliberation
Pushed his chair back
Strode off wordlessly to his berth below

I rose uncertainly, torn
Even in this final hour
Even in these last few minutes
Still hesitating

And then my heart rose up into my mouth
Buoyed from where I had buried it many dark fathoms below
Hidden for so many years
Pickled in saltwater

I turned from the table, ignoring the stares of the other men
I made my way through the darkness and the muffled crashing of waves from above
He was there in the flickering candlelight
Waiting for me with a sad smile on his bearded face

Molly Crenshaw

My father took me down to the beach the day the whales washed up
Globicephala macrorhynchus-- forty-two of them
They lay there in the withering August sun
Jet black and beginning to bake
Heaving as their lungs slowly collapsed under their own weight

Others lay still as Daddy picked his way around their immobile bulks with me riding high on his shoulders
The tide had crept in that morning and drowned some of the whales as they lay foundering
Beached there on the shores of a cruel universe filled with sand and sky and blazing heat

There's a picture of me from that day
Snapped by my father as he watched me whispering softly to one of the whales, unaware

My red hair is streaming behind me in the wind
My small hand caressing the whale's side as I murmur words of comfort
Confident as only a six-year old can be in my power to heal

Today that photo sits on my desk in the marine biology department
Sometimes, when discussion of research and labwork and grants becomes tedious
My eyes wander to it

I think of my father, standing out of sight behind the camera,
watching over me as he always did

I think of him laying there in the hospital bed toward the end
My hand caressing his cheek as I murmur words of comfort 
Quietly singing my whale song to him