EATING BLUEGILLS I don’t want to talk about their beauty swimming in water sometimes invisible except for the pale blue lace of their tails.
I don’t want to talk about the grace of a great blue heron gliding across water to its station in the shallows where it waits for a meal with due diligence & stillness as if it were frozen there.
I don’t want to talk about, as I eat these fish, the loneliness of my heart.
Nor the damsel flies & dragon flies.
Nor the curious head of a turtle popping up here & there.
Nor the voice of the redwinged blackbird as if it were speaking directly to you telling you the meaning of the rattle of reeds & autumn leaves in your terrible nightmares. 157
underground art magazine