Ioanna Warwick

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Jonah Remembers the Whale

A rib arched above me.
Below the lungs blossomed,
the flushed finger-like cilia bowed.
I woke to humming and gurgling,
the mighty inner tides.

Lulled by the slush-slush
of the great whale blood,
I felt washed clean of ego,
one with enveloping life.
No doomsday

deadlines, no burning
the forbidden images.
My heart murmur was still
next to that giant heart
that tolled Dive--dive

Then the command:
"Come out! Tis the beach
nearest Nineveh."
"No, I won't go," I wailed.
It takes so long

to learn life, to swallow
the whole whale.
Across the briny
irony of waves, weeping I waded
to loneliness again.

Now when twilight
grays the white roofs,
hushes the palm trees
and bazaars,
and the wind in the tamarind grove

sighs like an old man,
I sit on the sand and dream
of the muffled green sun of the sea
and the wild
forgiveness of the whale.

Copyright (C) Ioanna Warwick, 2006. All rights reserved.

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