On Fish

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Do you eat fish?
Eagerly
And if I fry it?
I’ll watch
So I uncoil the newspaper
Unearthing translucent
Roots where bones were

My father taught me this
To bait the hook carefully
Held his hand out and plunged
The barbed metal into calloused flesh
And I followed, scarring small palm
A lesson in respecting what you alter
Ocean at your knees

The spiced fish oil is spitting
From red pan
She sits quiet and stares
Bites her lip
Do you always cook topless?
Only when I cook fish
Does it feel as good as it looks?
I approach her at the kitchen table
Spatula in hand
Bring my stomach
A minefield of grease spots
Chest glimmer
And let her inhale

My grandmother could whip a cigarette
Out of a man’s mouth
With the fly end of her rod and line
She made a living this way
On a floating pedestal
Crimson lips and corset
Baiting men
Rather than fish

The table is a cacophony
Flounder intoxicating
Small bowls of kiwi kumquat lime
She bring pomegranate seeds to her tongue
How does it taste?
Like Riis beach
Fishy?
It should be
Do you want more?
Always