The Voyage of the Beagle

by Betsy Mitchell Martinez


Stand next to me and retch over the rail
until our microbiomes sink and merge,
develop shells and pulses, dragging scaled
anemic wonder to the shore. Purge
everything you thought you understood,
the ant, the barnacle, and shout your weakness
to the wind (o stupid dog! o no-good
plodding flesh begetting bile and pique
and paradox). Somewhere, a pointed beak
has learned to relish suffering, to feed
itself on cactus pads and air. A hound
has traveled to the waning moon and back
inside a howl, has nosed the evening’s grief.
It tracks that scent to you, and calls it friend.

https://onlypoems.com/poem-of-the-month/may-2026-form-sonnet