she recalls don knotts in that movie where he becomes a fish
after he left mayberry, of course.
he wears a thin lapelled tweed suit jacket, black bow tie
makes fish lips.
translucent dream or memory – aquarium glass
she slid snug against its chilled pane
eased osmotically through a viscous veil.
she wanted to be a fish too & often played one
swimming through living rooms, dens, kitchens
with warm floors from a glenwood stove in the cellar
cranking against nor’easters dropping several feet of powder.
school days home a rarity that allowed her to don rubber fins,
mask & snorkel, air tanks constructed from quaker oats cylinders
& kite twine.
storms ago – drownings ago-ago-ago-
she cannot hold anymore dying hands
anchored to volcanic sea beds chained to grief boulders
drag her soul currents. fish-lips-kiss wet freedom.
she slips from apparatus, gills flange, tail undulates,
swim the distance to wherever souls like her’s swim.
vahalla, or hel or sky boats that leap from cold oceans
jump the boundaries into fresh water
sloop beneath star bridges where stark air is a jolted intake
a surprise gasp, a disbelief, the shape of wild
careening osprey wings skimming
in arched glide along game trails and river’s wend
a bear snort shoves off a hefty presence near river’s edge
where she found the spring, a shove off to disperse souls walking
through mosquito swarms salmon, bass & trout break surface to feed on
& just that moment, her puckered lips break through life’s veneer
& hears bird trills, fluttering wings, fibrillating hearts,
minnows schooling ‘round feet nipping toes exotic pedicure.
she welcomes the prickle of autumn water
exalts dispersion from alveoli to alveoli, tree to tree,
a flock of birds her breath settles.
she wonders whose gurgle she hears, thrusts her legs,
launches power upward, a ventriloquist throwing their voice
around corners, behind the cabin, over stones.
with opened mouthed kiss, round with desperation,
poised to take it all in – a pileated woodpecker
announces territory in staccatic calls & silences.
up through fresh river brine
her milk white moon face pearl face bobber face
surfaces. she is grateful
for revelations tugged by fish, a heavy life line connecting her
to the final weeks before hard frost that settle gravitas.
she wants her salmon self to keep swimming up stream
keep gaining strength, nuzzle the otter mud shoreline.
Click here to read Suzanne S. Rancourt on the origin of the poem.
Image by Nikunj Singh on unsplash.com, licensed under CC 2.0.
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