i   can’t     breathe.

  that’s what  the fish must have thought

right?

     when the oxidised   hook  sank

    into  the  soft   viscid flesh of its upper stomach

probing    its way through the pancreas & spleen

liver   heart then  curling upwards  through

   the      gill  with a   tender clang,   muted

by water,  as it scraped the bone.    the fish     felt

    its   little heart  give with a  small tug,  an offering

made to the rocky &  canopied  clay floor.

   the line snapped upwards with a sudden yearning

 & the fish,

   pondering its   current  predicament,

  helplessly  struggled to break free as the  darkness

grew    brighter  on the soundless journey to shore.

as   the fish   pierced through the lid of the pond, like

  an old  sore  splitting  open, it took in the warm

                                            air, strangely unnerving,

        & the two sets of human eyes tracing  its

ruined body arcing towards them. at first,

    when the swells   of raw oxygen  collided with

the fish, it thought that it must have

ondine’s curse,  for that must explain the stabbing

   sensation    in its gills. until it breathed in suffocation

           from the unbreathable, unfaithful air. breathing

is scary

   but not breathing is even scarier.

                   by the time the fish landed    with a

     liquid flop  on the wooden boat, he was gray.

you didn’t mean to kill it, as told by you.

   i was your witness. you thought we would

hold it for a second, marvel at our cleverness

   as its silvery body struggled in our hand then

return     it to the water.   must have pulled too

hard     on the line, you said. hook done it.

                     i     can’t      breathe.

  that’s what remember i    said

when i   slipped

                              getting off the boat &

    fell   on my back

 & you said if i couldn’t breathe i would be able to say i couldn’t breathe so

home.

  to bed. 5:30. missed dinner it was fish.

woke up next day

breathing