September 2013

Fish and Feathers

I am hoarse anymore, and feathered
you said, most like, and I

imagined how it would be
to dive down past your glottis
overcast and steaming like congee

at one of those stalls imagine it
in Thailand with pedicab, why

all the men who leave me like cellophane
noodles with fish sauce and chicken

I will stand with the taco thank you
in front of the market, parking lot
they are all mad over fish

and peppers and bread sticks
and the details of the meal, and etc.

I glaze at their energy
it will take them hours
let alone the discussion

gathering carrying transporting
unpacking cutting mixing

is to them what pushing words
is to me maybe. People and fish
with flashing kernels and tucked wings

they are all mad over what kind of fish
little fish big fish spotted fish

stone fish sierra and huachinango
square mouthed disapproving like what

happened here, shrug dead
jazz hands on ice; a fish head

is a flummoxing thing
red faced to have been left

and I am that same girl you
said that very same one.