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Story of the Driftwood Whale

The driftwood whale takes shape
under the pressure of Mr Matthew Calandra fingers
working fast and sure as if the marks already existed
on his sandy page.
Black lines parallel one another like waves of ink
washing onto the sea bed 
sleeping far below the drifting whale
singing its impossibly silent song       
blowing all that water from her back.
She hasn't told us what her name is yet.
We ask again but cannot hear her voice
reverberating from the far distance.
The warm water of an incoming tide along the Lochlan River
washes her ashore the sandy bank of the lake
at Stan’s farm near Woodstock.
See as the whale's eye sees the grass. 
Finding the whale as an already drawing,
Mr Matthew Calandra’s hand
lifts her into the sky. 
The driftwood whale floats in stillness on the table
watching Mr Matthew Calandra make the marks of her tail
and the song comes towards us,
a carnival of black lines
above and below and beyond. 

Go to Mathew Calandra's profile to read more poems