Style: Poetry
Statement: Life through the lens of a goldfish who yearns for love.
I remember the day you picked me up
from the carnival.
“Feeder fish,” they called me,
a worthless prize to be won
by those willing to pay.
Under the blaring red lights,
you rose above me like an angel
and lifted me in the air
from my dripping plastic bag.
You twirled me in angles,
surveyed me from above and below,
giggled and scooped me
into a luxurious glass bowl.
I remember your dad’s words.
“I’ll eat it,” he said,
hand on his chin as if he were amused.
You didn’t sleep a wink that night,
slid me under the bed
whenever footsteps approached.
When he finally gave up,
you celebrated with me,
reached into my bowl
and stroked the back of my fin
with the tip of your thumb.
Even though we were a wall apart,
I remember your love.
Though it’s only been a year,
I have since become worn and old.
The bowl that contains water
you haven’t changed for months
leaves me gasping through poison,
and I can barely catch the
specks of sustenance
that drop only once every other week
or never at all.
My paper-thin white scales,
once sunbeam-orange and puffy-plump,
have drifted to the bottom,
where I hang in silence.
I struggle to remember
the glow in your eyes,
full of wonder
through the glass,
the ghost of a smile,
as the angel in you stared
down at me with curiosity,
the tingle of your finger,
as you stroked me once, twice,
and the feeling of love,
when you picked me up that day.
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