“In Kansas it is Against the Law to Catch a Fish with your Hands”

After Laura Kasischke

I was unusual, to be sure, a sh—thick but otherwise normal—with your hands,

a ne nd you could choose to hide, or show. I could be an old-style monster in rotogravure

at the edge of an old-style map, or an almanac. I might grasp, and crawl, and point, but never stand.

I was fascinated, desiccated, inept. For a while I wanted to live with you on land,

if you would let me, though in the dimmest hours— when the crepuscular shore resembles the top

of the sea that raised me—nothing would surface to show me whether to breathe the air, or turn and drop back

to where I came from, whether to accept your invitation, whether yes meant no.