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| Carp Fine old shoe of a fish, gape-mouthed, sturdy, and wise, nosing lakebed and slough bottom for meals of happenstance: you are not too good for what’s fallen in, drifted down, for the worse halves of a dozen different things, neither beggar nor chooser, simply alive, and hungry. I have met you at twenty Passovers, watched you swarm the weedy shallows of Cayuga’s west shore, upstate, home. I caught you once in a farm pond, and let you go again, because I’d only wished the catching, not the keeping. Good brute, your kind will outlive mine by ten Ice Ages, ten Megidos, and on the dawn of this world’s last day, our sun’s blinding end will turn your scales to a thousand stars. Comments? |
| From Seven Beasts, by Adam Sass |
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