The Crayon and the Catfish

I had so many things to tell you,
let's pretend the purple crayonmarks
on the wall were made by our son

and not some desperate cry
for being left alone, again,
in our large, childless house...

once, when I was seven
I caught a catfish in a storm,

it gulped the rain so hungrily,
I cut the silver line and released it.

When I was eight, I found it floating
on the top of the lake, a rusted hook
still embedded in its protruding lip-

the angst of its foiled life...

a large, quiet house,
an empty womb.

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