I got so hungry and
cooked the meal.
Fried fresh smelt;
all turned perfect pouched, salty crisp, with Spring greens side dish.
Smelled good, but on the first bit of a tail fish bite
everything turned stomach sour;
“Is it my rite to bite the next tiny fish tail in line?
Is it more right just to trash it, and spit all
that makes me sick to a gut?”
I got so thirsty after all,
I poured the glass of old island woman’s recipe,
call it as you like–the old cheating sheet–
two thirds of water and one third of Sicilian wine.
Again, everything turned stomach sour
so I poured in a new glass some crystallized water–
pure in its molecule perfect structure,
the spring of purity and Gods,
but, all menu spun tainted by Midas’ touch to a golden ripe apple
that I couldn’t bite.
I needed some fresh air,
walked fast to the lake
just not to throw-up,
but on the horizon thunders caught
dark rolling sky and split it in half
bringing out of nowhere a “lovely wondrous storm.”
I jumped in
and died with a spring smile
eaten by the night in small fish bites.
The next morning fisherman arrived at the lake
ready for catch, sports, and jokes;
they cast-out their smelt magic nets,
caught I rose alive flapping with a living tail.
Soon I was cast-out of that net
and named “too big to fry.”
You thought I’ve been
endlessly diverted from your heart,
but I still flap alive in the back of your mind
with dreams that rage
with a power you can’t possibly gauge
that invades wish to abet
me and it drips chills down the awoken spine in icy cold sweat.
You fear the lake mirror. Nothing else out there for me,
but to become again a mermaid
and dive deep off that sand hill shore
where once you stepped on the ship nail
tearing your shoe sole
not knowing you stepped on my mystic tale…