Gail Thomas

The Revenant

First bite of sun warmed flesh
after this dry-mouthed, locked down
winter is almost beyond simile,
so I ask, are you tomato or angel

blessing my lips with sweet
throat slicked June juice, fingers
smeared spicy and stinging,
bare feet and windows open,
and, hallelujah, still breathing.

Like the Race Point lobster diver
scooped up by a humpback’s
trolling jaws, mouthed and swished,
counting the dark time inside
until she spit him out.

Kicking up to the surface
he pierced the salty seal,
gasping and choking with wonder
and, hallelujah, still breathing.

Gail Thomas’ books are Odd Mercy, Waving Back, No Simple Wilderness, and Finding the Bear. Her poems have been widely published in journals and anthologies. Awards include the Charlotte Mew Prize from Headmistress Press, Narrative Poetry Prize from Naugatuck River Review, and the Massachusetts Center for the Book’s “Must Read.”

Next poem

Previous poem

Fall 2021