WEDNESDAY: Home at Last


Copyright is held by the author.

She found her
fishy skin under a false
bottom in his tool cabinet
in the garage, cleaning up
after the wake.

She ran her fingers over
the hard lozenges of scales
remembering when
they kept her
in the sea; the sensual
tingle of the lateral line
so unlike anything she felt
on land.

At last, now, she could go back,
she could
splash/vanish with only a ripple
but the children, and soon
there would be grandchildren
which a fish could never visit
except as dinner and she
folded up her skin and
patted it before she closed
the drawer again.

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