Holly Mitchell

We Need the Boat of Love, Not the Boat of Tolerance

We meet our galleries
           between barrels of oil, the photographs

survivors alone in the dark.
           We hear the mermaids

drumming on the bridge, the steel water
           from my childhood sink. We remember quilt

squares sewn unfinished, magic carpets
           sailing on the East River strait. We flow

blood to our Moby Dick of hearts,
           a four-chambered family

of questions in brine. We don't need

anchored not far from shore. We won't die
            if this kiss remembers us

from a gutted past. The risk is
           if it forgets our blood, our love

subsumed in the shallow
           alter-world depths, art.

Holly Mitchell lives in New York. Her poems can be found in several journals including Ishaan Review, The Feminist Wire, and The Bakery.