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.


Also by Egan Garr: Exit Five Poems Radiant Point

September 10, 2025

Egan Garr

Housekeeping



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.


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