On the first day
the fish wrapped in straw
starts to stink.
On the second day
if you walk by the barn
it enters your clothes.
That evening your wife
sniffs your suit
but says nothing.
On the third day
dressed in your skin
the fish begins to walk.
Your friends know
to hold their breaths.
This is not the first time.
If nothing else happens
the fish retreats
to its mean nest.
You shower.
It sleeps
waiting for you.
Fish oils
soak the hay
of the whole barn.
The chickens begin to dream
of seaweed,
of roe.
In the middle of it
the fish
is the wisest
truest thing you know.
It whispers
sweet sauces --
We are brought here to love, yes,
but not blindly.
Its jelly eye
winks at you
codes of Morse --
No remorse.
Every oracle
takes its price,
skin for scales,
gold for gills.
Some days
it is a bargain.
Or else it costs
everything you have.
I was raised without the fish
as some children are raised without candy
or time.
No one in my family spoke of it
as no one spoke then of cities
or queers.
Somehow in the cradle, rocking,
I caught a whiff; or in the crib clutching
at rails
a bit of fish caught
rough in my scream.
Swallow.
Since then the fish has grown in me
like bubblegum or seeds of water
melons.
Since then we're bosom tight
thick as thieves sealed with a
kiss -- kin.
Is this what I meant
when I longed for teeth?
Is this what they meant
when they named me fish?
Soon I shall slit my
belly
to stroke its silver scales
bilious, slippery
as love.
At last the fish
swallows its own tail
scale by creamy scale
orgy of self-
righteous lips
on sharp bone
tongue sucking spine
vertebra by vertebra
teeth shredding
gummy ovaries
ripe with black meat
millions of living
egg of fish.
Belly full of self
soft pulsing
heart of fish
parallel eyes
forehead
white gills
filled
with the last sea.
When the fish
is all jaw
row of incisors
grinding plankton
coral salt
churning oceans
like milk
into sweet fat
gold
then I will be ready
for you.
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