Ambergris by Elizabeth R. Hitchcock

Ishmael first calls me to the beach, shows me seaweed sheet masks.
You’d think my skin wouldn’t get dry in the ocean,
the white whale tells me that love is about moisturizing.
We exfoliate; Moby Dick shakes the barnacles from his face.

You’d think my skin wouldn’t get dry by the sea, I tell them
as Moby Dick spits into the sand, and I cleanse.
We exfoliate, and I try to shake the pimples off my face.
I place seashells on Ishmael’s eyes.

Moby Dick vomits, and I cleanse my face with bile.
Ahab takes aim, throws toner above my head, I catch it,
then place seashells on Moby Dick’s eyes for protection.
Controlling dry skin is simpler than navigating the Pequod, Ishmael muses.

Ahab attacks, hurls serum bottles next, Moby Dick snatches them in his mouth,
he tells me that love is about moisturizing.
Navigating the ocean is harder than finding the right skin routine,
so Ishmael shows me whalebone colored sheet masks to wipe the sea from all our minds.

Elizabeth R. Hitchcock is a graduating senior at Beloit College in Wisconsin majoring in Anthropology, Creative Writing and Critical Identity Studies. Elizabeth is a queer woman and has been writing poetry for two years. She’s worked as an editor for Pocket Lint Literary Journal. Her poems have been published in several print and online publications, including Furrow Magazine, The Linnet’s Wings, and in upcoming issues of Common Ground Literary Magazine and The Columbia Review.