orca, orca

©2023 michael raven

Finding that the ice floe under turquoise nights has now cracked, broken off and set adrift, my eyes turn to an ocean of stars coming in waves. There is fear of the unknown, that knee-jerk reaction of the tiny voice inside screaming, “This is different, I don’t like this”, and the other, more sensible voice soothing the other, stroking soft shoulders to calm. “This is what is always was, why are you surprised?”

Orca, Orca. Orca is my pilot, forget that other guy. I am the polar bear, slumbering, and Orca is waiting to wake me. Crow and Raven laugh as they always laugh — that bear is too dumb to wake, they say.

With a splash, he suggests otherwise and without a word, capsizes the flow sending me to the water.

Meanwhile, the reindeer… she smirks from the shore, watching as my eyes open wide as I swim frantically to obsidian sand, slumbering no more. Little voice shouts, “See! This is what I meant! Not safe! Different!”

Orca groans and my larger voice sighs inside.

Photo by Jean-Christophe Andru00e9 on Pexels.com

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