elephant memory
By Dara Goodale
they know a decades-old friend by scent alone—
when they meet again roars of joy resonate
their time apart shallow before
the depths of mammoth cortex
when they open infrasound mouths
do they speak of their youth—
those easy summers in lush savanna
the past bound forever by perfect recall
they know of loss
when death severs with its absolute blade
they grieve as humans:
warm solid trunks to hold each other
upright as they mourn their funerals
our echo hallowed wet
low rumbles of agony that ripple
through herd as they press together
regal heads bowed
they will not forget those who have gone—
watering holes look like churches
to the eyes of a bird when
parched throats choke up on
clumsy burial rites
do they seek their god in
something clean to swallow
do they find answers
in the even reflection of the
endless empty sky
what greater sorrow than memory?
Dara Goodale (they/she) is a Romanian-American lesbian, poet, and university student living in Lausanne, Switzerland. They write about mental health, grief, and identity. You can find their work in Underbelly Press, The B’K, Thimble Literary Magazine, and The Passionfruit Review later this year.