black fish…

black fish…

standing on a wood dock – new england – fall

not old yet – fishing rod – bay salt water

fishing to eat – not poor – wish to provide

long firm torpedo-shaped fish – like bonito off cape cod

one small – then one large – like half my arm – both by my feet on the dock

i pull something up from the bottom (like an eel i once proudly brought up as a child not knowing it was there and peeled after nailing its head to my uncle’s porch – father cooked it – i ate it)

this was different  – large black blob – gelatinous – as if made up of clumps of jelly or oil – human eyes looking up – vaguely pyramidal

poison – stagnation – knew i couldn’t eat it

on awaking: like the constipated naga in “spirited away”

black fish…