There is something clinging
To the lip of the lipless
A dark crumbling, nauseous
Sea of stone and crystals,
Waves breaking over rock,
The bad teeth and tremulous jaw,
Crushing ships in immortal maw.
Once, a fleeting delicate thing;
Once, a voice would sweetly sing;
Now, a detached message
Stirs the hero’s cerebral soup –
Hear your own voice calling back
Hanging still in the quiet air
Tinged with a nymph’s last beware.
[Tara Abrahams is currently studying at the University of Toronto. She is an aspiring ornithologist, museum junkie, and English student who writes almost as often as she breathes. Her work has appeared in Blueprint Magazine, Paper Darts, and The Yellow Bird Magazine.]