Skip to main content
Poets.org

mobileMenu

  • Poems
  • Poets
  • Poem-a-Day
  • National Poetry Month
  • Materials for Teachers
  • Literary Seminars
  • American Poets Magazine

Main navigation

  • Poets.org
  • Academy of American Poets
  • National Poetry Month
  • American Poets Magazine

User account menu

  • Log in
  • Membership
  • Donate
Donate
Poets.org

2024 Hill-Kohn Prize

Page submenu block

  • find poems
  • find poets
  • poem-a-day
  • literary seminars
  • materials for teachers
  • poetry near you

Orcinus

by Jessica Cordes

 

I’ve been dreaming of whales. Orcas, in water so clear and blue it makes me yearn. In the dream, I’m in a kayak on the clear blue water, no paddle, two orcas swimming around and beneath me. The sky is wide and cloudless and I’m unaware of my body. The orcas’ surfaces are glossy. I’m not afraid, since I don’t call them killer whales. Words matter that way. The name orca comes from the Latin, Orcinus orca, where Orcinus translates to Kingdom of the Dead. Bella died last January. When she died I stopped eating and ran into the ocean, let the cold swallow my breath. Then I dunked my head underwater and let out a wail and my tears mixed with salt and I swallowed them. When I surfaced for air, I saw a dolphin jumping out from a wave about fifty feet in front of me. I like to err on the side of these things don’t just happen. G’s husband died one month ago today. I googled it, because I hadn’t heard from her in a while, found his obituary and felt pain. I googled G’s husband’s obituary while sitting on my couch, eating raspberry sorbet, watching Love Island. He was a writer and a fisherman, he loved traveling and he loved my friend. I met him once and now he’s dead. And Bella is dead. She’s not in North Carolina anymore and I can’t stop writing about her. I can’t stop writing about oranges because they’re not just oranges, they’re bright, round bodies and maybe I’ll change someone’s mind who hadn’t thought of it that way and maybe if I keep peeling and peeling things open on the page, nothing will die anymore and nothing will end. I googled orcas too. I learned they can be found in any ocean across the world. I learned that in the Pacific Northwest, there’s a Native legend that believes when a person drowns, orcas will carry the body into deep ocean and transform it into one of their own. I learned that drown can mean both to perish by submersion in water and to rise above like a flood. Months ago, I ate seafood pasta at The Tasty Crab in Poughkeepsie, New York during a snowstorm, held G’s hand across the table.

 





back to University & College Poetry Prizes

Newsletter Sign Up

Support Us

  • Become a Member
  • Donate Now
  • Get Involved
  • Make a Bequest
  • Advertise with Us

Follow Us

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Tumblr
  • SoundCloud
  • YouTube
  • Instagram
  • Pinterest

Footer

  • poets.org

    • Find Poems
    • Find Poets
    • Poetry Near You
    • Jobs for Poets
    • Literary Seminars
    • Privacy Policy
    • Press Center
    • Advertise

  • academy of american poets

    • About Us
    • Programs
    • Prizes
    • First Book Award
    • James Laughlin Award
    • Ambroggio Prize
    • Chancellors
    • Staff

  • national poetry month

    • Poetry & the Creative Mind
    • Dear Poet Project
    • Poster
    • 30 Ways to Celebrate
    • Sponsorship

  • american poets

    • Books Noted
    • Essays
    • Advertise
© Academy of American Poets, 75 Maiden Lane, Suite 901, New York, NY 10038
poets .org