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the fog creeps outside the window
7 am, then 8;
a braceleted arm reaches for a pear
she says she thinks she saw a ghost

three thousand miles away
somewhere in the pacific ocean
a baleen whale swims serenely
filtering krill through its curtain of bristles

here, inside: halogen lights,
clinking fork against knife, on ceramic plates;
winter morning, raw and gray

« the biggest in new england, i believe: »
resigned to overhearing a neighboring conversation
while sitting in silence, over empty plates

she says
maybe she should take a trip somewhere

a baleen whale comes up for air

A short poem written years ago by my dear friend Gowri Chandra, and recently illustrated. Another version might be released soon.

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