by Marianne Reddan

My caviar is sour.
And why are my tunnels bruised?
You take your knife
and keep digging.
If I am a fish
I have no eggs,
my sea is unsalted,
and I do not know the last place I’ve been
from the first.
I live in a circle and it is not a life.
They tell me this is love.
But I cannot laugh, I cannot sleep,
I cannot even understand,
so tell me, man with net,
man with age and knowledge,
man bitter,
man broken—
How can I love?


Author's Note: there is way too much on my mind, and this probably said nothing. I have no idea if I did the image any justice but I literally hate how robotic fish are, fish also alludes to vagina, & scales because much is to be weighed when considering if one is or was ever in love plus its consequences.

Posted on 09/24/2008
Copyright © 2021 Marianne Reddan

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 09/28/08 at 12:46 AM

There is a terrible irony in this. Love which should be outgoing and fulfilling is pictured as having isolated, encircled and demoralized.

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