from the belly of the whale.
Surrounded by this darkness,
I cannot hear her singing to her calves.
I've forgotten what light feels like;
can't remember the scent
of the prairie, the sigh of a single rose
when everything smells fishy.
Will I ever know again the comfort
of hard ground beneath my feet,
or am I doomed forever to be consumed
by this queasy, churning loss of control?
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