The Silver Fish
I killed a great silver fish,
cut him open with a long
thin knife. The river carried
his heart away. I took his
dead eyes home. His red flesh
sang to me on the fire I built
in my backyard. His taste
was the lost memory of my
wildness. Behind amber clouds
of cedar smoke, Orion
drew his bow. A black moon rose
from the night’s dark waters,
a sliver of its bright face
reflecting back into the universe.
Copyright Credit: Poem copyright ©2011 by Shawn Pittard, from his most recent book of poems, Standing in the River, Tebot Bach, 2011. Poem reprinted by permission of Shawn Pittard and the publisher.