I Am the Fish (by Lori Williams)

 

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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Being on Time Can Haunt You Forever (by Lori Williams)

 

Being on Time Can Haunt You Forever
by Lori Williams

I saw my mother die.
The oxygen mask filled with 48 years,
dripped into my hands.
Nothing but a small, dark good-bye.

No matter the green gown and copper lipstick
after; perfect hair, hands that held me
for 20 years, folded gently with a cross.
No matter the whispered words
of how beautiful she looked—

I remember that. And wish often
I was late to the hospital
to find her already gone –
clean and motherly,
mouth poised as if to say
I love you. Good-bye, my girl.

*