Fish Is Their Name

Thrashing, orange, glittering bodies 
creatures that are all tail, 
strange. Something new.
They live in water - enormous water, 
like a big, square lake in a building.

In the memory before memory
I call up the shadows,

A grown-up in our group, it could have been Mama,

puts a shiny coin in a machine.
Small dry brown candy tumbles out,
you have to catch them fast.

Pellets, she calls them, and
shares them around to me and some friends.
She says they are like food, but don't eat them.
She says throw them in, but not all at once.

I hold one nimbly between my baby fingers,
hang onto the rail and throw my pellet hard.

It floats across the air and lands gently 
just touching the surface of the water, 

Like an explosion 
the creatures burst forward,
Compete for my offering
as if it matters.

Fish is their name, I am told. Gold Fish.
They hurl themselves against each other,
thrashing with hunger, their desire insatiable.

These are no pets for a bowl,
these are animals with power.
They jump for my pellets
again and again passionate and wild.

Free as the Amazon 
even in their indoor lake pond.

laughter bubbles from my throat,
I ask for more ...

©2011 Donna Jo Wallace.