He lit up down the phone,
as he sung about the one
so old, they found a
harpoon head embedded
in his skin, forged a century ago;
how when a humpback breaks the surface,
its back goes on for miles,
like it’s pulling up a world with it;
how, floating in unbroken blueness,
a thin film of light far above,
plummeting dark below,
the blue whale booms a song
that pushes through the sleeping deep
and touches another,
an ocean away:
‘I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.’
Becca Miles
Becca used to be a biologist who wrote to procrastinate and accidentally procrastinated their way into a Creative Writing BA. They've published individual poems in More Exhibitionism, BFS: Horizons, and Vortex. In 2020 they contributed twelve poems to the joint collection Steel-Tipped Snowflakes.
Good work