Inside Passage

By RACHEL MORGENSTERN-CLARREN

 

Like the forearms
of the fishermen,

Each docked boat
is tattooed across its bow:

Cinnamon GirlHazel B,
Lady Lou, Miner’s Debt.

Low mountains
encircle the marina, the rock

And snow of each peak
patched like molting caribou.

The sky dark
and still, clouds hitched

To the waning moon.
A net and diesel canister

Tangle in the surf,
rosemaled waves

Slapping the hull. Only
cannery lights at this hour—

Gilding barnacles,
mussels, your profile

As you turn
slowly in from the wind.

 

Rachel Morgenstern-Clarren is an MFA candidate in poetry and literary translation at Columbia University. The recipient of an Academy of American Poets Prize and a Hopwood Award, her work has recently appeared or is forthcoming in Two Lines and Asymptote.

Inside Passage

Related Posts

Black and white image of a bird with a long neck

Dispatch from Marutha Nilam

SAKTHI ARULANANDHAM
With the swiftness and dexterity / of a hawk that pounces upon a chicken / and takes it by force, / the bird craves / snapping up a vast terrain / with its powerful, sharp beak / and flying away with it. // When that turns out to be impossible, / in the heat of its great big sigh, / all the rivers dry up.

Dispatch from Camelback Mountain

CHRISTOPHER AYALA
There is a part of me who everyday thinks of being back in Arizona walking around blistering days, laughing how when I had them to myself, I had thought this was the end of the line, that there had never been a worse place on earth. That’s mid-thirties type clarity.

In fall, the persimmon trees light their lanterns

CHRISTY TENDING
And I plunge my foot into the scalding water, dropping my resistance to its intensity. I move toward it, inward. I move fast so that my body is unable to register the purposeful heat this place contains—something primordial, obscured by a white, industrial exterior.