My Two Arms Like a Pitcher

When I was young,
my two arms like a pitcher—
two roots grown hydroponically.

Ashamed—
I hid them good in big sleeves.

I pinned rubber boots
to the doll feet on the screen.

Most whales sing to others,
but one is too low.
It is its own submarine.

We watched it f​rom t​he blue moss
on the rocks by the beach.

In Spain, three boys found a greenhouse
in the big blue belly of a whale.

Rubber boots,
Hoses.
Thick rope
coiling in.

Like the world,
the whale is enormous.
It is slow.

The blue whale sings for hours—
multi colored lights on a string.

Once,
my grandmother and I
picking blueberries
in the bushes beside the spring.

Once,
a big sow
running
towards the sea.

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