what the hell she do that for
her goldfish on the desk
gasped for life…still water glistening
its gill slits opened… closed
to sip burning oxygen
my fish…just felt like doing it
experiment…a testing of their nerve
perhaps they’d let it die this year
not buck authority…and teach is boss
her property…and she’s a crazy woman
to dip her hand into the bowl
to kill in front of them
hey….do something
some dying in its eye
a slowing will to breathe
no thrashing in its tail
no cavalry in sight
oh, Christ…I’ll do it
he splashed it to the bowl
it floated on its side
it’s dead…
then awareness righting
and orienting thrust to
claim its element
it’s yours now…
her implication dawned
some cheered…some jeered
his rash accomplishment…
she left it to them to think
the sense or nonsense of it
and…she never lost a fish
Bonnie Marshall
Note to dear Readers…this is a true story.
Artwork by Color Jar
Bonnie…I love your reading of this. I also want to grow up where you grew up
That was Appalachia…Pittsburgh…fine school systems and good people. Smiles, Jana.
Wishes granted then…guess it’s providence. Story telling isn’t what brought me to live in the Blue Ridge Mnts. but it sure is one of the things that keeps me here.
Again, Bonnie…. I can listen to you roll out a story all day. All we need is a porch. xxoo
Oh…porches…love porches and the Blue Ridges. Lived in North Carolina for several years with long, lovely trips there. xxoo
This is brilliant. I could see the whole social experiment. Well written.
That you sensed this experience is encouraging to me, Carolin. Smiles.
lost in the magic of this story, crafted so well and wondrous…
Appreciate that, John. It was fun to write about it.