By Jennifer Pullen
Whelks line my shoes and
teach me how to stick to things
Seagulls dropped you at my feet
I ate your flesh between the cracks.
Venus was born from the sea
but I could die there,
sand fills my eyes and
you bury me to the breasts.
This is erasure this is loss
this is the beautiful wreck covered
in coral that makes fans of cannons
and skeletons of fans.
Kiss me here under the deep
where the pressure is too great.
Jennifer Pullen is an Assistant Professor of Creative Writing at Ohio Northern University, where she teaches creative writing and literature classes, including courses on fairy tales, fantasy, science fiction, and environmental literature. Her fiction and poetry have appeared in journals and anthologies including: Cleaver, Behind the Mask (Meerkat Press), F(r)iction, Prick of the Spindle, and Lunch Ticket. Her chapbook A Bead of Amber on Her Tongue won the Omnidawn Fabulist Fiction contest.