Zebulon Huset

Painful Vacancies | a paradelle

Seeking a world council or
              sea king—a whirled counsellor
                           still dealing with adolescents weekly,
              still, dealing with adolescence, weakly.
A world weakly seeking adolescence
                                       with a counsellor still.

“Please!” her assent’s tongue
            pleas. Her ascent stung
                          when she left. The world airless
            when she left the world heirless.
Her tongue’s pleas ascend air,
                                         the world less when she left,

rising out from what once seemed a hole. Dampered some,
             rising out from what once seemed a whole damned person
                         when whet, would splinter so sharp, as
             when wet wood splinters. Oh—sharp as
what’s rising as a person. When a dammed hole
                                       would splinter out, oh—wet seemed sharp.

Please, adolescents, when sent a splinter— 
              whether what she would council still
                            weakly stung, or, rising so damn sharp
              the world, when seeking
a whole person seemed as a world
                                           dealing with less air left from without.

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Who You Callin' a Whalefall?

I’ve never been a sliced pickle before
             so I encourage your vinegar. Brine me
                           like Odysseus strapped to the ship’s mast.
             Let me soak you up like a bottom-feeding sponge
so you can skin-dive to see me
             while secretly seeking yourself.

                           We can play hide & seek in the skeletons
             of once-proud ships & through
the blooming biome of whalefalls—those giants
             who’ve ceased to swim a mile or so
                         above the sandy seafloor. The great
             carcasses slide past warm-blooded predators
into the cold deep set fully on slow decay mode— 
             a boon for the most depressed & compressed
                           sea-life for icy decades. Boom years.

             Ashore, you are a full-body vice
& I have always dreamed of transmogrifying
            my carbon into a diamond. Squeeze
                           all of the you out of me if you wish— 
            some flavors never leave the tongue.

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Zebulon Huset is a teacher, writer and photographer living in San Diego. He won the Gulf Stream 2020 Summer Poetry Contest and his writing has appeared in Meridian, The Southern Review, Fence, Atlanta Review & Texas Review among others. He publishes the writing blog Notebooking Daily, edits the journals Coastal Shelf and Sparked, and recommends literary journals at TheSubmissionWizard.com.