Goldfish

Style: Poetry

Statement: Life through the lens of a goldfish who yearns for love.

I remember the day you picked me up

from the carnival.

“Feeder fish,” they called me,

a worthless prize to be won

by those willing to pay.

Under the blaring red lights,

you rose above me like an angel

and lifted me in the air

from my dripping plastic bag.

You twirled me in angles,

surveyed me from above and below,

giggled and scooped me

into a luxurious glass bowl.

I remember your dad’s words.

“I’ll eat it,” he said,

hand on his chin as if he were amused.

You didn’t sleep a wink that night,

slid me under the bed

whenever footsteps approached.

When he finally gave up,

you celebrated with me,

reached into my bowl

and stroked the back of my fin

with the tip of your thumb.

Even though we were a wall apart,

I remember your love.

Though it’s only been a year,

I have since become worn and old.

The bowl that contains water

you haven’t changed for months

leaves me gasping through poison,

and I can barely catch the

specks of sustenance

that drop only once every other week

or never at all.

My paper-thin white scales,

once sunbeam-orange and puffy-plump,

have drifted to the bottom,

where I hang in silence.

I struggle to remember

the glow in your eyes,

full of wonder

through the glass,

the ghost of a smile,

as the angel in you stared

down at me with curiosity,

the tingle of your finger,

as you stroked me once, twice,

and the feeling of love,

when you picked me up that day.