How many times has Jean Pierre
hooked and brought to the surface
a glimpse of the divine
in her form as a Fish.
Shouting, “Nowma Come Quick”
and me running upstream on old legs
to witness the miracle,
of a Rainbow or a Brown
alive and wise in the ways of water.
But today after the spill
their influence in our lives
is a hollow echo.
Their brightness, their intelligence,
and the dreams we share
The river is devoid of fish,
all dead from the gasoline in the water.
A tanker took a full load too fast on a curve
and now I stand with Jean Pierre
and feel a loss that is planetary.
Can we breath
if the fish can’t…
as they leapt toward land
anything to escape the poison.
Sweet cousins of the water,
we miss you with all our hearts.
I’m so sorry.