American Falls Reservoir | Dolores Lee

My knees scabbed thick
like red-brown worms,
I kneel beside the body
on the rough planks of the dock.
The carp's puckered lips
open and close as if to suck
water from air,
air from water.
Inky pupils spread
into gray clouds.
Dipping my left hand
into the reservoir
I feel the dingy lukewarm water
swirl between my fingers:
And think of Mama's kitchen sink
full of soaking dishes.
I nudge the fish
over the deck with my shoe.
Its body lands silently and sinks
deep into the reservoir.
It floats back up to me--
on its side,
eyes open wide.


Taken from the 2000 issue of The Wire Harp.