Touch Tanks ISABELLE EDGAR

Touch Tanks

Isabelle Edgar

I climbed up the fire escape to the roof. It was morning, an exhale of fog. Softness in cities is rare. And he was there too, dancing. And like those fish in their cases he moved as though needing to push his bones out of his skin for a rest. And he could. So seamlessly between suffocation and softness. Out of reach from the children’s hands, doors open. And he smiled. He must’ve chosen gentle that day.