Egan Garr is a queer poet and translator from the American South, now living in Amsterdam. In 2002, they founded Versal, a literary journal and later small press. Garr translates contemporary Dutch and Flemish poetry into English, including work by Simone Atangana Bekono, Astrid Haerens, and Iduna Paalman, and is the author of two chapbooks, Terrane (MIEL, 2015) and The Preservationist Documents (Pilot Books, 2012). Recent pubs include Action, Spectacle, Bat City Review, Fifth Wheel Press, Asymptote, Always Crashing, and The Canary.
I keep house like you’d show up any minute
Such bravery would suit you
The bathroom’s clean
There’s champagne in the fridge
But I go to Rome
and spend the night with a beautiful girl
It’s worth the risk
I know there’s no hope
I know that
But don’t whales still migrate, hold
carbon when they die, hold the earth?
This poem might also be titled “Whale Fall”. When a whale dies, whale fall is when its carcass descends to the ocean floor. Over its lifetime, a whale will store more carbon dioxide in its body than a tree. In death, it sequesters and cycles that carbon dioxide into sediment and the deep-sea ecosystem so that it does not return to the atmosphere.