I Am the Fish
by Lori Williams

I am tired of being a woman;
tired of the clocks and sons
and cats. Tired of the perfume
and lace and hats that I should wear
in winter. I am tired of the cold.

I remember the fishing pole branch
he made, with bologna as bait,
the sadness of the sunny fish,
it was beautiful, golden, sunshine!
but he never explained.

No men ever explained. They sat
at my table; naked, eating pot roast,
married, with their wives’ chicken soup
in my sinner bowl, some seeing me as
a savior, a port in a storm. Oh
silly men, all of you.

I am tired of being a woman, don’t you see?
He left me before I knew why the fish
struggled so hard to stay. I have waited
for that explanation, smiling. None of you

know why. I am the fish. And I am tired.


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