
…
We steal fish heads
from aluminum trash cans —
the flesh fileted, spine dangling
down, in gravity, to the tip of the tail
fin.
…
The hooked bars of bone present
the illusion of a body – in the same way
timbers and trusses of houses give the impression
of a home
yet unfinished.
,,,
We clear a patch of ground by the burn barrel,
where homeless rags stay warm on cold nights,
by edge of the dirt pitch we play stick ball at
& run coffee can bases.
…
We place the refuse, these structures that resemble
fish, as seeds & water them – imagining a whole school
rising to dance in the current of summer’s hot breathe
& join us in play
…
We chant “Batter, Batter”
to distract each other from connecting
tn such a way that the ball would project itself out –
over the fence // beyond this place
in an escape, we never thought possible,
to be lost
out there
beyond us –
…
The garden of our bones grew, but the fish
never bloomed & we
too soon
…
forgot that one day,
one day —
we thought they would.
…
Claudia has us writing “Garden poems” over at dVerse for the 10 year anniversary.