Chitra Ganesh, How to Assemble a Flying Car (detail), 2018, linocut on tan BFK Rives. Courtesy of the artist & Durham Press.
Glacial
After you finally chose me and my divorce
was final, I bought the brass, orb-shaped
locket with a hand painting inside,
impossibly small, of a glacier. Brush
strokes thin as hairs, seeming almost
accidental. It felt then like I could mock
your pace because you’d finally made it,
mock your silence because you’d finally
spoken up. I wouldn’t know for years
that glaciers produce a clamor
like thunder, and while I did know
that only ten percent of a growler crests
above the water, I wouldn’t understand,
until I saw it myself, that ice is always
moving, and fast. We blinked at Bear Glacier
and the icebergs rearranged themselves.
Blinked, and one, glowing from within
like a tumbled gem, rolled over to show us
its belly, or, you might say, a new face.
Katherine Fallon is the author of two chapbooks: The Toothmaker’s Daughters (Finishing Line Press, 2018) and Demoted Planet (Headmistress Press, forthcoming). Her work has appeared in Colorado Review, AGNI, Juked, Meridian, Foundry, The Best New Poets, and elsewhere. She teaches at Georgia Southern University. (updated 4/2021)