POEM 325: FISHES IN THE RIVER
just yesterday, ese left my outstretched arms,
hanging in the air, like a rag hanging out to dry
the river was as long as Nile, grandpa loved fishing,
he grabbed a hook knotted the line,
dropped the sinker, bait strapped to the hook,
grandpa hummed, “there are many fishes in the river…”
I told him, the tragic tale, of how ese made her hair into a ponytail,
“there are many fishes in the river,
son, go fish on the other side”
his countenance, emotionless, a wry smile
but who wants date a fish?
ese was gold, a gem, my treasure chest of everything bright and beautiful
sun sets on her eyes and rises on her lips
stars twinkle in her voices and music is native to her kiss,
I do not understand why mortal me would dine with a fish
when ese, the goddess of enthral bliss
was my only candle wish
“I fished here”
Grandpa’s husky croaky paused my reverie:
“on this side of the Nile fishes weighed in gold,
scales more beautiful than corals in blue seas, we were told.
Hook, line, sinker, I dropped deeper,
“she slipped before my eyes, like catfish from the knife…
undeterred, son, I fished, again.
Your selfish self would with me agree,
Son, this river is home of shrimp and whale,
crab and ell, seal and mackerel,
don’t let the flying dolphin distract you
from sinking deep your bait-laden hook.
ese is come, ese is gone, ‘there are many fishes in the river’, son”
I am not a fisherman, oh grandpa of mine;
let me be a lion, and run jungles for her,
ese might be long gone,
but the tale’s still in scene one.
mallet and dagger, two-edged cutlass.
variety of skulls still litter the dusty floor.
[this poem is still under construction]