Fiction · 08/14/2019

The Journey

I’ve heard that a blue whale’s veins are so large that a human could swim, naiad-like, through them, diving into the thick currents nourished by a towering heart that thundered like bells. Such a caprice is not easy to forget, and if I could take that bloody journey, I would indeed. I would wear platelets for scales with DNA coiling in ringlets around my head, the drunk oxygen rising from the waves in a claret steam as I reached into the uncharted rivers and estuaries of foreign circulation, fitting my fingers into capillaries and arteries like scarlet gloves. I would wave gaily at Jonah, quaking in fear and hiding behind a curtain of baleen and jawbone. I would journey the cartography of the living plasma that floated on tides blindly, with no guiding moon embedded in the flesh like a pearl in an oyster’s body, only bone and muscle that flinched and contracted, channeling the wandering proteins and minerals to direct the beast from a daring breath of air to a sounding dive and protecting me in my ruby chamber from every pelagic mood and fancy.


Melinda Giordano’s written pieces have appeared in Lake Effect Magazine, Scheherazade’s Bequest, Circa Magazine, Vine Leaves Literary Journal and The Rabbit Hole among others. She was a regular poetry contributor to with her own column, “I Wandered and Listened” and has been twice nominated for the Pushcart Prize. She writes flash fiction and poetry that speculates on the possibility of remarkable things — the secret lives of the natural world.