GH O TI

f i sh

Issue No. 1

You Still Don't Trust Seabirds . . .

You still don't trust seabirds
must enjoy September coming back
closing in on your birthday
on these leaves all year watching out
for the cold almost within sight

- the piercing, high-pitched shriek
is just this rake grabbing hold
more dirt, another burrow, stones
- I've never learned

to please you with height.
I only know to dig, to reach
under, to cradle the dirt
that eats nothing, to plead with it
over and over the way a child is taught
in a chair higher than usual

- I don't see you yet
and the air here melts when handled
becomes blurred, comets swoop
for one more pass while my arms
clutch this struggling darkness
to make you eat, sit up
open your mouth for this fork, the cake
still warm, its candles circling down

to overtake the sun - sparks
everywhere! sweetened, still lit
not yet snow and your mouth
almost listening, almost daylight.

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