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Fish Bones
by Jasmine Sword-Manni.
i have not fed
the fish in
weeks. they
spin slow ripples
above the surface
tension of the water,
dart up and down up
and down up
and down. somewhere
beneath the driftwood
lies the bones of
an unfortunate
casualty.
its bones
sway
in the current:
stark white ribs
like fingers
stretching
toward the surface.
in my own bed i lay with
the light on my face,
feeling the
spaces between
the intercostals. i
know what
hunger
feels like.
ii.
because it is winter i
pile the blankets over
my chest, up to my neck. my
hands are cold but you
will not feel them. instead
i watch
as you undress as
a crop of gooseprickles
spreads
over your torso.
tonight you
will not warm my bed
with your pale and snaking
arms
writhing from
beneath the covers.
tonight i
will hear the fish splashing
in the darkness
and fall
asleep
with my ghosts. 02/09/2011 Posted on 02/09/2011
Copyright © 2024 Jasmine Sword-Mann
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Johnny Crimson on 02/10/11 at 01:36 PM Reminds me of a primus song or something, well done. |
| Posted by Ava Blu on 02/11/11 at 04:21 PM Thank you for posting this; that's really all I can say. |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 05/11/12 at 05:25 PM There is such elegant, beautiful madness to be found in the smallest details. This piece realizes that entirely too well. |
| Posted by Paul Lastovica on 04/03/14 at 09:07 PM I don't believe I have ever read this one from you - the cold is vivid to point where I can feel it; hunger, too. So nicely done, Jas. :) |
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