Fish Magic
A little clown in the corner
rolls the ocean out. I am green
and the fish swim through me, alongside
a bouquet that seems thrown to no one.
The fish don’t acknowledge me, but you
see the clock suspended underwater,
my hand tethered to my torso,
waving at you like a pink balloon
on a black string, my two faces
also tied together, three eyes in all,
watching everything. My femme lips
blow another pink balloon,
the butch face smiling more sedately.
Soon, a few flowers begin swimming
around the fish, up to you,
moons and planets in the mix, or are they
bouncy ball red, sun yellow, blue balloons
set free? Maybe at the surface, maybe
on the bottom, a knife stands upright
like an excitement of sea grass.
The fish float by unimpressed,
while strings hook the clock
to the blade, and the clown points out
the flower vase is an hourglass
emptying into right now.
First published in Michigan Quarterly Review 65.3 (Summer 2026): 515.
