WHERE A WARHEAD SLEEPS

We’re told that violence moves

            to the ocean. We wish

she could mull it over, break it down

            to microplastic she will

spit back at the shore. We show her

            violence, package it

in boxes & mail them, emptying

            our hands. We use her

to die, to swallow us whole. She might

            cough you up, but you won’t

be lucky— violence is looking for you,

            your body. She knows

she’s supposed to hold you here, cradle

            you in the coral.

We’re combing through the seaweed now,

            to find remnants of you,

to find where you’ve been.

Terin Weinberg earned her MFA from Florida International University in Miami, Florida. She teaches in the English departments at both DeSales University and Northampton Community College. Her work has been published in journals and anthologies such as Flyway, South Dakota Review, The Normal School, and Red Earth Review. When she’s not writing or teaching, she is farming and caring for her menagerie of animals.