Baubles From Bones: Issue 2
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The Oarfish Bride

Amelia Gorman

The oarfish is coming to conquer the beach,

the first signs are already here: the unraveling

of every banner, each emerald flag on the sea wall.

I, too, come undone. I knew the mosaics by heart.

The poems and legends were always at my fingertips,

like the wide striped ribbon around my neck.

The sea froths red with protein and slime.

Crinkled wood washes up on shore, the remains

of so many fishing boats, so many of our fishers.

My neighbor, out collecting cockles, lashed,

pulled out to sea. Her hair churns loose in the wind,

then the water. Cracks form in the sand.

Deep furrows that bubble with salt and tar,

shimmering in a hundred colors, filled with stars.

And the stars, too, come closer to kiss the lighthouse.

The oarfish is coming, I saw from the headlands

as he took a frenzy of sharks in his mouth, as he

surrounded a dinghy and squeezed the blood out of it.

Meanwhile I wove ribbons, also red and blue,

but green besides for the city. Silk ribbons, paper ribbons,

I curled and bowed and quilled until I bled.

I weave them through my hair, or what's left of it.

I wrap my legs, I tie my corset tight and gasp

like a drowning man, like a fish on the shore.

I lace my boots with indigo, I fill them with sand -

sand that is a thousand glittering mussel shells

and glass from the city midden. I fill my pockets with gems.

Let me be the oarfish bride, let me quell the seas,

let me untie the knots that hold us in place. Let me sink,

full of ribbons, on my wedding night.

Baubles From Bones: Issue 2
Available for purchase:
Physical
Digital
Subscribe to Patreon

Amelia Gorman