By | 15 February 2023

God flees the dinner table
and the fish becomes a metaphor
for death. The gaping mouth
and eyes perpetually open
in a final sentence:

hunger— a basilica
with no altar or theology.
Man, the violence of ripping flesh
with no afterthought.
Nature claims its colony.

Father sinks
his hands into the carcass.
We children look on
at the gruesome ritual. The estrangement
of innocence as
body is pried off bone.

And then, like one final
act of consecration,
he extends his hands and offers
his spoils to our waiting plates.
The fish bones lie, forgotten
like the vanished god.

In my mouth,
flesh melts into acid—
the purest
taste of worship on my tongue.

This entry was posted in 108: DEDICATION and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Related work:

  • No Related Posts Found

Comments are closed.