The Tuesday Poem: Refeaturing Frankie McMillan — “My Father, The Oceanographer”

My father, the oceanographer
.

knew the language of whales
yet tripped over the sound
of his own name

They say the cure for death
is drowning and for a lisp
a bucket of salt water

—-

In white gumboots he entered
the stomach of a whale
sat brooding under the great arched bones
of a church

invoking the mantra of LFA sonar
whale fall
and echolation

stripped to his underwear,
so great was the heat, and
blubber he said

now there was a word to make you weep
.

(c) Frankie McMillan

First published in...