coil

fish in a fishbowl;

the moisture stings the skin

but the bowl is soon forgotten.

fish leaping out

through the mouth of the glass

down the throat of a child

wrestling and nestling

in the tissue - first in the guts

and later in one’s mother’s hands.

burnt and shrouded in rotten scales,

those hands could not turn

the ocean into glass

- plains of unclouded quartz,

spared from the ripples 

of innocence skipping over sinkholes:

gaping wounds in the fabric of humanity

sewn by unknowing fingers,

but pricked by a knowing needle

in a haystack of books

and words that were organised 

neatly into paragraphs

— you saw the fish

but did you look it in the eye

like you were told to

before you learnt to fear it

like it fears its own reflection

for fear of forgetting the trick 

of forgetting oneself and the

riddle of who came first? the fish or the fishbowl

for fear of knowing who’s to blame.

- Charlie B.

Inspired by Alice in Borderland, Le Petit Prince, and A Family. A curious combination of existentialism :)