Fish
I wish I was a fresh fish
already cut open and meat
tender and bare
and my heart still beating
and mine
in the calloused fingers of the
fisherman holding the knife
he sliced me open with
everyone can come take a look
at the strong little body
and light bones and scales
around soft striated flesh
oh my magnificent dead body
they can look
at all of me at once
all of it is ripe and ready to tear into
with fingers probing
parts of me I was just living with
and have not touched
desecrating me like so much
matter
tearing apart this creation
corpse open
easily consumed and digested
what was here on the cutting table is me
was me
is in the fisherman now
is in the sea again but
in an altered way
is my light bones sinking
is my blood in a seagull’s mouth
is moving down a man’s gullet
my body beating with life used
and dissolved
unmade faster than I was made
I am lying open and waiting
to be taken apart
I would have nothing to hide
Bus Stop
I sat on the doorstep of the world and watched it pass me.
I missed my bus three times.
If the raindrop can march in slow motion down my knee
If the clouds can pace themselves from west to eastern sky
I could wait for the bus one more time
And I could braid grass blades while I waited
And sing while I waited
And kiss someone, yes, right on the lips
I could have told my name to the bus driver when he came
Hurtling down the street and
I might have sat in the back and greeted everyone as they boarded
“Hello! Hello!”
Said goodbye when we parted
It’s a dream that fogs the air in front of me
I want too much
To get on the bus and go home
If the raindrop can have a single desire
If the clouds can have only one wish before parting
Why do I let the bus leave without me again
And again and again?