Poems by Julianne Basile
By Julianne Basile
You couldn’t go down there if you tried.
All light disappears at 6,000 feet,
and the pressure could explode a block of pure lead.
“So how do we even know it exists?”
some solipsists might ask,
as they so often struggle to fit the wholeness
of anything outside of themselves into their heads.
When it comes to fish, however,
verifying existence proves even more difficult,
probably since the idea of life
abiding in a completely different medium
creates, for many, an emotional barrier.
Or, rather, the many create the barriers.
We build the walls.
There are no walls in water.
I guess the only reason I myself believe
so whole-heartedly in the existence of fish,
is because I used to play hide-and-seek
at the edge of a river,
where branches broke the sun
into a graceful lace of light,
catching us all in the same net
and I realized I was nothing if not one.
We were all fish once, actually.
Believe it or not, we all crawled out of the sea.
That’s why gills appear at the neck region
At the embryonic stage of human development.
Speaking of embryonic development, how would we react
if our babies were caught in nets
and casually referred to as “bycatch?”
What would it take?
For our souls to be trawled into non-existence,
Rounded up with every other potential ghost in the vicinity,
Right time or not, and driven by draggers straight to purgatory?
Maybe then we would rethink our cute, reassuring labels
like “sustainable” and “dolphin-free.”
As if the idea of a canned dolphin
should ever even have come up in conversation in the first place.
As if there is any such thing as “sustainable”
For a race that always takes more than what it needs.
“Self-Imprisoned”
By Julianne Basile
If you built the animal’s cage,
What side are you on?
We built the bars of bone
And they snapped off at the ends,
Too brittle from the logic
That couldn’t hold them together.
A plate full of death,
And I once considered it a mystery
That I felt dead inside.
I dreamt of seals and Siberian tigers
Speared and served on gleaming glass buffets.
I wracked my brain for the difference,
And to no end.
They say, “You are what you eat.”
(And you are not what you don’t).
So I stopped eating death,
And, lo and behold,
I finally feel alive.
And let my bloodwork tell it,
My protein levels are just fine.
- Julianne Basile is a student from Southern New Jersey, pursuing a career in
environmental engineering. She works as an advocate for individuals with
disabilities and has a long history of volunteer work and activism, which she
plans to maintain after graduation. An avid reader, literature provides her
with a cherished retreat from everyday stresses, her favorite poets and authors
including Aimie Nezhukumatathil, Francesca Lia Block and Pablo Neruda. Her work
has appeared in Corvus Review, Plum Tree
Tavern, Quail Bell and The Stray Branch.