OUTING ON GOOD FRIDAY
for Claudia

Richard Denner

We sat on the rocky scarp outside the Golden Gate away from city and suburban demands. The insistence of the breakers was remote and on the choppy waves gulls dipped and rolled.

We sat a long time without words, while our separate mind’s tangles reluctantly relaxed. The sea, I don’t know, seemed new to me, and then you pointed, "Isn’t that a whale there on the beach?"

Sure enough, a beached whale with a broken jaw, bloated, wrecked. I spoke, "Must’ve been hit by a boat. Near Nome, I saw kids use one for a trampoline."

The energy of its body depleted, yet powerful in presence, a marvelous shadow from the deep. Transfixed, you reluctantly confessed, "This is my first one."

Lucky to see a whale up close, even if it was dead, hoping it was a sign whales are about and not an indication that there are only a struggling few.

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