about the author

Sam Herschel Wein is a current Chicago resident who specializes in aimless frolicking. He is a poetry reader for The Blueshift Journal, and is the co-founder of a new journal, Underblong, with his friend Chen Chen. Recent work has appeared in Salt Hill, Nightblock Magazine, Cahoodaloodaling, Red Paint Hill, and Gabby Journal, among others. Check him out at shmoowrites.com.

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Invisible Whale 

Sam Herschel Wein

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Tell me about the network television program where
he slid closed my cabinet
drawers, etched with a pocket
knife our initials under the sink. Tell me about the ocean
he dove into among two
squids, a clam without its shell,
and how the crabs swirled tornadoes, each clamped onto
fingers and toes. Read me
a script, how he left me alone on a fishing raft,
a motor boat, a single hanging tree above
a green, forgotten sea. Tell me about the time he painted
a mural of me on the old
bank downtown, no one stopped
to ask him for his name, or mine, he drawing the arch
in my back so publicly, I felt
the colors in my pores. Tell me this, all
this, has been somewhere
for me to watch. If not,
quick, start to film. Get out the camera. Say
that I too can exist in pixels
and on eggshells, that my
love and I can try to be seen together. Do not tell
me to wait. Do not tell me to patience.
Show me the time he fell so in love with
the idea of me, he hijacked
a newsroom, took over
Channel 6, colored in an invisible whale
and held it up for the police, smiling.

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