A Heart That Weighs Four Hundred Pounds
A humpback whale nicknamed “Guardian”
spots a seal isolated on an ice mass. A group
of orcas circles. The pup bleats. Guardian slaps
the water with her tail, cradles the seal on her chest.
Sicily in the 1920s. A mother dies in childbirth—
a family in an emotional wilderness. The baby shrieks.
My grandmother is a wet nurse — she places the infant
to her breast.
The Virginia Tech shooting occurs. Walls bleed.
Students hide under tables and desks. Professor Librescu
locks the door of his classroom. He holds it shut long enough
for his students to escape certain death.
The seal becomes the baby, becomes the student, becomes the breath.
She’s a Multitude of Springs
There is one week in May in New England when the dogwood trees
bloom little miracles. My friend and I drive to the park. Walk—Talk about
everything. Ten years ago, she felt a hard spot on her stomach. The doctor told her
she had a rare type of tumor. The revolving door in my head starts to turn.
My mother walks through—followed by my sister. Cancer stole them
from me years ago—force majeure. The growth in my friend’s abdomen was removed.
They told her it was a slow moving sarcoma. No chemo, no radiation needed.
Cut. Remove. Stitch. Regular ultra-sounds. No issues with tissue – until recently.
They saw a shadow patch on the screen. A time bomb in the weeds.
They went in again. I unfold prayers for her like cut-out paper dolls. As we return
to my car, the wind picks up. The dogwood petals fall on her hair like pink snow.
Joe Barca is a poet from the Boston area. He has a partner, two children, and a wheaten terrier named Brady. He is a regular contributor to The Poetry Space podcast, and he reads for Whale Road Review. His work has been included in Rattle, One Art, and South Florida Poetry Journal. Some of his favorite poets are Mai Der Vang, Kevin Young, and Alexis Sears. He is obsessed with pickleball.
January House Literary Journal 
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