by: Rachel Parker | Published in the Winter 2024 issue of Penstricken Magazine | In the heavy air of an August morning, I watch my daughter walk away. Her new backpack waves a bright yellow goodbye to me with each step. The school looms ahead: flat and brick. Just moments ago, I held her close, feeling the thrum of her little heart beating against my chest. My own pulse had slowed to match it, a rhythm we’ve shared since before she drew her first breath. She glances back,

by: Rachel Parker | Published by Anomaly Poetry in their Winter 2024 anthology, Tidings | Through cobalt depths she moves like a mountain dreaming, forty tons of ancient knowing parting the sea's dark silk. Her flukes write scripture in swirling water, while deep in her bones lie star-maps of migration, routes her grandmothers sang. She carries coordinates in the curves of her spine, in the slow pulse of primordial blood, while around her the cold sea churns,