By Sarah Morris
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she will be ready
lying at the sunlight level.
she listens with one eye open
suspended on her floating seabed.
her massive brain is so foggy
her huge bulk feels empty.
there is no calf in her
no urgency to seek out
an already absent father.
she looks for her sons
brawling, bullying, biting their fins.
she must be their keeper now.
she surfaces
makes blow hole fountains
so explosive that tourist boats
head out only as far as they dare.
she follows with her boys
foaming the waves into a V.
pushes upwards
looming over the boats.
her aqua jet releases
decades of birthing stress
showcases her new supremacy.
she zooms back to her pod
like a black and white torpedo
her youngsters in her wake
flying through the sea
like it is wet air.
her menopause is past, is post
freed from lust
she is submerged
into her oceanic queendom.
Orca
Matriarch
Granny.
Centre of the Web 
Thanks for publishing this, poem – it was inspired by recent reports of the Orca grannies taking gangs of young male orcas out to chase up the fishing and tourist boats.as well as where to catch the best fish. Whilst the Orcas are post menopausal they continue to play a vital part in the group dynamics.
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