For Michael As He Goes

There are whales. 

Right now. 

Not far. 

Even as I fail  
to peel this asparagus  
into ribbons. 

Even after  
all of these years  
I still want to impress you. 

Even though it seems impossible 
their barnacled faces 
are sieving krill and singing 

barely aware of the waves 
gunning to shore 
shattering against the rocks 

they twirl their enormous heft 
through the darkness 
with something like delight. 

And when it all becomes too much 

they fling their entire bodies  

skyward in celebration. 

WHITNEY HUDAK

Whitney Hudak is a Certified Nurse-Midwife and poet living in Newport, Rhode Island. She has work appearing or forthcoming in Pine Hills Review, Yellow Arrow, Thimble, One Art, and Hunger Mountain, among others, and is a Pushcart nominee. She holds an MFA from the Bennington Writing Seminars and a DNP from Columbia University.