Individual Voices / Natural Forms
Winter, 2006
Louise Nayer
Mother
My blue fish
spawned a baby
in my dreams.
It was beautiful,
luminescent
among the quartz.
And how I longed
for perfection,
its gills
to be the opening
song of night.
One dead fish later
and your hands
aging, scarred,
on a white formica table
we all admit failure,
the accidents
we could not stop.