Dear Sunrise Fishermen

Dear Sunrise Fishermen,

The bleeding red calls for you.

Your favourite time of day—

I interject. The sleepy camaraderie

Oozing from your eyelids, before

The sun anchors your gaze. Rippled

Brushstrokes of maroon and burnt sienna.

The cloud formation frivolous, the species

Pre-determined: carp, salmon, trout. Mouths

Hinge open and closed, fish and passerbys

Alike, reliable like oars slicing into

Pungent guts.

*

Returning home would be nothing

Without the amber glow, permanently etched into

Corneas. You will feast on the

Carp, once writhing on the deck of

Your decaying boat. It will simmer in the mouths

Of your Children. You will rise again just as

The sun does—

*

Your ashes will be scattered into

The waves you once carved.

A carp’s retribution: they will feast.

Your essence will be swept into the river

Your family weeps into. Nothing but

Iridescent scales and settled sand, scarred.

Your children will splash in the same

River. They will play. They will

Grow. They will live on.

*

Why do I envy them? Why do I envy

You? I wish to have salt simmer

On my tongue. I am equally as

Soluble. I will either play in this river or

Drown in it. There is no in-between.

They will unearth me like a fish tangled in

Monotony and I will writhe with

Metamorphosis.

Yours sincerely,

A Fisherman's Lonely Daughter