Revelations


if I were to tell you the truth / I’d say I’ve been thinking about / sharks: how they keep moving / or they die / is that a lie? I told you / I wasn’t thinking about much / that I was fine / the storms rolled in over my head / clouds a thick thumbprint over the Tay / the rain hid many things / I am very lonely here / thank god for my new friend I keep saying / because otherwise I would truly be alone / like a shark / in the midnight waters called home / shark embryos sometimes cannibalize each other / sharks spend their lives solo / I understand that / I close my eyes and squeeze / so hard I see red / and remember / sharks don’t sleep like we do / instead / they have periods of motion / and periods of rest and so / maybe / this is just a restful time / 		I was never any good at resting / 

In the Dreams I Do Not Have


I see myself surrounded by storm. 

The conditions are always right for lighting, 
power sparking between cloud and sky. 

In the dreams I do not have, I see dark waters 
and a choppy wave crashing over the bow, 

spume frothing in its wake. I am always very 
small against the sea. I am always very small 

against the grief. The sky breaks through 
often in these dreams. Salt on my tongue, 

gulls screaming in my ears. Water crashing over 
the bridges, spraying my feet. Still, I stay afloat. 

Gretchen Rockwell is a queer poet who can frequently be found writing about gender, science, space, and unusual connections. Xe is the author of the chapbooks body in motion (perhappened press) and Lexicon of Future Selves (Vegetarian Alcoholic Press) and two microchapbooks; xer work has appeared in AGNI, Cotton Xenomorph, Whale Road Review, Palette Poetry, and elsewhere. Find xer at www.gretchenrockwell.com or on Twitter at @daft_rockwell.