The Estonia From the Floor, 1994
Unforgiving—the ocean curdles;
spits her foam in the face
of her loved. The other
ties unwind themselves
when she wets their wires. They lose
grip of her—she bellows
and sways yesterday’s breakfast
to the rusted-ridges
of the stern. Flickering
her tongue at the overhanging
tremors of crew—She is the host
and they are not home.
Ice of Greenland Whispers, 1968
The naked trees save only me
when the ship raises its hull, unbraiding
into the sun. The spirit grows wild,
a lonely impulse. He becomes open ocean,
the musk dancing off the floor, dreamcatchers
caught in the wind—anything to calm
the red-bellied winds. Baby bluefins
holding becquerels in tongues
spit at the seafloor, birthing bubbles
into the breath of the current.
Author Bio: Terin Weinberg is an MFA candidate of poetry at Florida International University in Miami, Florida. She graduated Salisbury University in Maryland with degrees in English and Environmental Studies. Her work can be found in journals such as: Dark River Review, Waccamaw, Barely South Review and New Southerner.
