“Easy-Make Mollusk” © Kelly Sauvage Moyer

 

No Song

I

The blue whales ceased singing
Krill is dying and algae poisons the ocean
There is no song when there is hunger

Families and bombs scream with the same decibels
While the dust and rubble suffocate cities
There is no song where there is no breath

II

I dreamed my friend’s grandmother died at 105
and I was the last to see her alive
She shared the secret of modern medicine
Then whispered she wouldn’t make it to the morning
The same starved prophecy of Nostradamus
and not a song in their hearts

That day, her ghost appeared behind my friend’s shoulder and I cried
My voice is a theremin, my tears a harp
Seething as the boiling ocean
How selfish of me to sing and dream when the whales cannot
or when ghosts linger with their secrets

III

I walked by a marble pool
that used to reflect the lights of civilization
and it was dried up
A totem of swordfish leapt from its foundation
Ossified in a contorted choreography
They were silent too
Silent and deaf
Pirouetted and questioning
There is no song where there is no home

IV

The world will go dark on August 2nd for several minutes
The eclipse of Leo’s might
Smothered by envy of hungry stars
See how we all hunger

The silence of swordfish
The wailing of children
The obfuscation of the August sun
The stifled symphony of blue whales
The insurmountable fathom of volume and magnitude

Starved, famished, and frail
See how we all hunger
See how we need to sing 

 

Savannah Manhattan is a trans author and poet in Los Angeles. She’s written a lot but around that she is obsessed with board games, collaging, vinyl records, and especially coffee. She will nerd out with you forever about coffee.

Kelly Sauvage Moyer is an award-winning poet, photographer and fiber artist, who pursues her muse through New Orleans’s French Quarter. She is the author of four books, including Hushpuppy and Mother Pomegranate and Other Fairytales for Grown-Ups, both released by Nun Prophet Press. She is the editor of Failed Haiku.