A ceremony with your three daughters
You held our ankles, dangled us
overboard, made us
kiss the sea
a pledge of loyalty
You sailed us
in mineral rich currents flowing
from a deep trench
Pickings abounded there, as did
your death lessons
Scale and gut the fish
chop off the dorsal fins
the pectorals
Run your knife beside
the spine
Feel the blade cutting through each rib
To sate your hunger we picked out
whisker bones one by one
whiskers that must once have belonged to cats
before the clever fish swallowed
their predators
You never knew
but we planned it, how to slip
your hook, escape
your knife
With our tears we made a salt pact
then leaned so hard over
the rail that
our hair reached for the waves
IN HER OWN VOICE
Poetry lives not only on the page,
but also in breath, silence,
and sound.
▶︎ Listen to Julie read