For decades, I tumble
and bump
along seabed’s bristled
traps and peep
holes.
Immune to anemone stings
and sharp-
toothed things —
I ride the rip…

By Jen Anderson

Today, raising my voice
means raising a son.
Pulling the silver spoons
from his ears…

for my great-grandmother

Aloysia Donahue, if I followed the tune to your
window, I imagine you’d welcome…