The Great Barrier

he is a fish I cannot save

delicate red fins fluttering

exposed gills contracting

hyperextended mouth biting

exoskeleton whipping

thrusting

violently, rapidly

silently

side to side

end to end

scales torn, caught on dry edges

he smacks himself sharp

as semi-transparent bone

against sun drenched brick pavers

deprived of water

he starves

gasps

gulps

writhes

panicking in self preservation

*

I do not see him die.

*

in the dream, I am his tank

flush with water

wet as the tropics

I am

paradise

everything he needs

but I have no hands,

no means to carry him

to safety,

to me,

to the sweet release of water

I have no way

to scoop him up

off the

insufferable city pavement

*

I ache for him

*

I slosh my anger, salty ancient liquid

escaping cruel glass barricades

riding high through tepid air

I crash

splashing into

thin blue carpet

I puddle, feckless

absorbed in fiber

*

I am nothing to him now

*

I awaken

choking

face down,

slender nose planted

in goose down feathers

allergic

gasping

*

nightly

I discover

myself

bowed down

before his absent crown

an indent,

a tidal depression,

proof of the great

barrier

these hands

still fingering

the artificial reef

***

Copyright © 01/13/2021 by Christy Munson. All rights reserved.