A new poem by Alice Miller.
Antarctica Again
One morning I sat with Rebecca drinking coffee on Base
watching seals out the window like we were in some zoo
and I told her about my abortion
and she told me a terrifying story about pregnancy.
We drank more coffee and then went out on the ice
and let it blast us all away, the babies and the bodies.
We were stuck there a few extra days, in Antarctica.
I’ve always helped myself to words and helped myself
with them. Sometimes I think the ice was the best
place I’ve ever been—not because words couldn’t
help, but because help wasn’t needed,
because I wasn’t needed.
Help was as nothing as any of us were.
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The Friday Poem is edited by Hera Lindsay Bird. Submissions are currently closed.
