Katrina Kaye

You beg.

Flip around
dry earth,
crunch up
stretch out.

Your eyes
swim
screams.

Large,
unblinking,
desperate to
understand.

I watch
sore and silent.
Knowing how
touch is
foil to freedom.

My darling,
please breach
the soil
of the solid
and return
to river bed.
And when you do,
take me with you.

We all ache
for rescue.
Easily confused by
the comfort of
trembling hands.

I too
am often
left to dry
on sun cracked rocks
skinned of scales
left to my bones.

You are not
the only one.

“Fish” is previously published in Rabbits for Luck (2016).