In Antarctica

You have reached the bare neck of this curving Earth
Where the spine, knotted, is tied off,
Where the Earth, and the steady core
Of your body, spins slower.
In Antarctica all noise is white noise
Like the frozen breath in your lungs
Trying to unfold
Like ice caught on shore
And all snow is white snow
Like the rib bone
That smiles at the dull sun
Once it has been cleaned of pink tissue
By the white canines of the wind
And the albatross.

Megan Leahy has been published by literary journals such as Chautauqua and the Claremont Review. Other than writing, Megan enjoys training her mustang, eating homemade bagels, and sleeping. Megan lives in Carbondale, Colorado, where she takes many trips into the mountains and makes glass frogs.

"In Antarctica" originally appeared in Chautauqua.

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