The Cormorant
They slip the string
over our throats
then tighten it—
oh we dive for the big fish
but can only swallow the smallest of the small
If you’re lucky
you get a little bitty reward:
the taste still in your mouth
of whatever you were made, first, to cough out.
By the same author
My Fjord | Someone Else’s Someone Else
I will sail through my own fjord and I will name the fjord My Fjord.