Invention No. 1 in a minor
for two voices
I would catch that goldfish in my hand
I remember the water
trapped against the bowl’s clear plastic.
falling to the level of my waist
It would fit inside my thumb if
from a line above my skull.
the base tapered like the tip does.
The sky paled at the edges
Lifting, the slick scales red-orange against the palm
like the dark water fissioning
into white particles against the sand.
the heaving of its gills like the heart’s chambers
rent open with each contraction.
The body, an ocean, produces
Its struggle, net of bone and muscle
its own salt.
flexing wildly, an erratic sine wave.
As a child, I
A child, cruelly curious,
would lick my upturned hands to taste
I would take the fish in hand
the salt lying in the grooves of skin,
again and again
and suck each finger hard
to feel its thrashing coolness against my palm
like bones for marrow.
What a marvel it was.
What a marvel the body was.