S T O R I E S

Another Summer

Chicago

P O E M S

The Orchard

Waiting

The Fisher's Tale

Gate 10

Necromancer

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B I O

 

The Fishers' Tale


All night hot and cold fronts
rocked the house, and branches beat
the roof in time to la chamade,
a drumroll of defeat.

Once overboard, we sank like hearts
in the cold, slippery dark,
my last thought that we might
wash up speckled, white,
and tragically entwined.

They’d find the evidence of foul play:
the spikeholes in your shoulders
from my boots
in the clawing reach for air,
or yours in mine.

Leaving the house behind,
in the darkening trees,
we saw our doppelgangers
beached on the grit,
luminous and green-eyed in the rain.
We saw the small purple holes
and resolved
to never go fishing together again.

 

© Li Gardiner