Sunday, February 21, 2010
I have never been afraid to share my emotions,
only afraid of a missed opportunity,
a closed door - you counted on that- or
a window that won't open,
with you on the other side.
But I was hooked before you turned the lock,
I threw myself on your hook
and climbed the line,
slipped into your boat.
Didn't know you caught a real live mermaid
with songs for a thousand years?
I learned about the fisherman's trade,
saw how slimy and grimy the gutting,
the fileting of smooth skins and delicate fins
that adorn each tender catch;
smelled the rancidness from the work,
the labor of love inflicted on minnows and carp;
heard the tearing flesh and the squirm of eyes popping
and entrails splattering,
the gasping for breath.
Every man must work,
and some must be fishermen.
It is hard to remember the fish want to live.
That the end of their life is nourishment for you.
Will the ending fare better for the mermaid?
You should gaze upon her,
even show her that your hands are for more than fileting,
and when your curiosity is satisfied,
then throw me back - if you can.