Tuesday poem #586 : Adam Beardsworth : Rift

 

 

When the black spine broke
the surface
a rift opened in the world.

Out fell the lance and flensing knife,
the harpoon, trailing leagues of hand line.
Out fell the catcher boats smashed to
kindling, fuel for the try pot furnace,
which fell out too, followed by
the first mate's shit-eating grin,
his bull whip in a rat's nest.
Bow-first a breaker heaved out the crippled
whaler, masts cracked by sodden sails, then
for a moment, silence

before a half-drowned howl spat out the
captain feet first.
          He belched and out came the spy glass.
          He belched the compass and map.
          He belched again so wide this time
          his jaw unhinged.
                               Out swam the
          whale, smiling.

 

 

 

 

Adam Beardsworth is the author of No Place Like (Gaspereau, 2023) and the critical book Confessional Poetry in the Cold War: The Poetics of Doublespeak. He is the editor of Horseshoe Literary Magazine, and the founder/organizer of the Horseshoe Literary Festival. He teaches literature at Memorial University’s Grenfell Campus in Corner Brook, Newfoundland and Labrador.

The Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan