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      February 6, 2012A Battleship Examines Its FaithSaara Myrene Raappana

      I dream
      towels, dust streams,
      a downpour of talcum.
      I dream arid fields of sorghum.
      But down where I’m fattest: frogmen swimming
      on wave-wings, stoking my belly with the kindling
      of justice. Captain, I’m a billion-shot salute, but guns
      aren’t made to pull their own triggers. The Baltic makes me run
      until my sides buckle but won’t let me collapse.
      I call this salt-soup Heaven, but perhaps
      I’m misdirected. The angels
      of my dreams never change:
      unarmed and dry,
      they fly.

      from #35 - Summer 2011

      Saara Myrene Raappana

      “My husband wrote an article about religious iconography in The Battleship Potemkin, and in reading it, I was charmed by the intersecting ideas of the warship, religious devotion, and mutiny. The subject matter was so huge, though, that it cried out for form. I like writing in form because the restrictions force me to surprise myself. After years of trying to be surprising on my own, it’s a great relief. I’d like to give a shout-out to some of the words I’d hoped to fit into this poem that didn’t make it: dreadnought, dazzle camouflage, frigate, bowsprit, Redoubtable, sacristy, chasuble. For a complete list, email me.”

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