claustrophobic coffins

by Jordan Trethewey

“[C]offins are little wayward ships making their way to love’s other shore.”

- Diane Seuss, frank: sonnets

I cannot look at claustrophobic coffins,

cannot picture the dead inside, they are

always alive, wondering, why such little

air. In this darkness, I imagine my wayward

self in cramped quarters. The kind in ships

fishing on the Grand Banks, making

heroic attempts to haul home their

catch to pay bills with babies on the way.

I try to sit up. Bang my forehead, begin to

scream at the stillness. If love’s

a conqueror, it is bested by this other,

stronger, pull to a different shore.

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