queer-with-a-pen

as a fish

i am awoken by
the sounds of rain
thundering down onto
the patio outside the window
of what used to be my room

dragging myself from the
warmth of bed, i go
through the motions of
pulling on clean clothes
and brewing coffee

pausing for a sip,
i take a peek around
around the corner of my
laptop, and find that the
pond has flooded

water laps further up the
stone steps like a
hungry ocean, and rain
continues to fall

waiting for the flood,
like it will smooth out
all my jagged edges,
i imagine myself as
a fish

maybe a trout, caught
by a starving man,
held aloft in strong hands
as the hook is pulled
from my mouth

and when that knife
slips down the seam
of my tender belly, i’ll
welcome the gutting, because
it’s him wielding the blade

take from me what
is of use, and discard
the rest, like plucking
thin bones from between your
teeth, and i wonder if you’ll
think of me then

when the reaching and
pulling, and dragging arms
of the ocean i willingly walk
into, take me into the mouth
of that verdant beast

and the house floods,
sends coffee mugs and
empty bottles tumbling,
smashed on the rocks
of this longing

and when the rain
lessens just enough for
sunlight to arc out across
the expanse of that endless
sea that stretches from one
end of the horizon to the other

and you’re out there
on your paper sailboat,
you’ll realize that we’re
under the same blazing sun
once again, and smile like
you do, just for me