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[Poetry] Three poems by Larissa Larson

An Atlantic Away

It’s nights like this where rain permeates flesh

bone, the dark oblivion opens above. I wish you

would envelope me, consume me in midnight

waves. You are 4,375 miles across me, body

made of salt, coral colored on the surface, sunlit

deceit. I wade for your warmth. But you’re so

layered, cool parts no one has ever seen. I’ve

tasted your trenches filled with luminescent

monsters. I’ve heard the barometric pressure

that pumps your blood, rumored to be unmoved

by my moon. But I am the boat. You, sailor, I

carried over decades of oceanic residue. Then

you moored me. After our furious white peaks kissed

uncharted territories. How I crave that slippery wet

of vulnerability wrapped around my ankles, seaweed

sick debris from underneath. I now know you are lost

to the locker. I must remember these are only shanties,

siren tears dripping down on me, singing how we are



Ode to Mountains and Sea

Inspired by Helen Frankenthaler’s painting of the same name

unprimed canvas

my body cream doused in kerosene

see the cerulean

see her

see me

yes, there turpentine transparency

one and two make me in the corner she’s over there

O how tan

just peachy keen

salmon center I’m bleeding

golden cup my breast empty

soak-stain skin

Pour sky

Pour perpetual

Pour me

the jagged pieces creatures live beneath

Count my arms she’s starfish beating breathing

Seafoam teeth I’m so hungry

so shell my neck periwinkle petite

Feather gray I’m gleaming

sea salt impasto

rock ash aura

she is my I am her gift

Helen pock horse and war

think of





I’m full how could she

ever be


Pipa Pipa

His hyoid bone snaps

rippling muddy waters.

In anticipation, her river

body quivers. His star-fingers

grip her horny waist in a dance.

Body leaf-thin she pirouettes

as he pushes a hundred eggs into

her bare back:

primal pas de duex.

Months of gyre gestation,

bubble-like pockets pop open.

Little monsters gnash tooth-less,

tongue-less mouths - hungry

for release. Her doubts rip

from dorsum as demon dears

swim away. Leaving clusters

of caves, impressionable abandon.

Surinam begins to shed,

she sees

her honeycomb skin

scarred and ringed

like a pointillism


Seurat brushed

every edge of her

pock-marked past, like the one on the left

in Les Poseuses.

Postpartum holding

more than Atlas

could ever carry,

the bottomless sea.

Larissa Larson is a graduate student in the MFA Creative Writing program at Hamline University in St. Paul, MN. She serves on the editorial board of Water~Stone Review and Runestone Literary Journal. Her poems have appeared in The Briar Cliff Review, Gyroscope Review, Sheila-Na-Gig and Welter Online.


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