Fish Eggs

For me, many essays begin as a poem.

I'm somewhat working on a book-length poem, Here's the begining...

~~~

Fish Eggs


My mother, blonde and bent
Cleans the garage, not even a year
After your death, pulls on blue miles
Of dive equipment, cracked black hoses
Baked from the Sierra sun, the heat
That beats the bones, of what used to be

Years of being underwater, memories,
Soft as sandstone, fall between the piles,
Oxygen-starved heaps destined for the dump,
And be covered by the earth. She continues

Late past summer, learns to count
Three falling stars before she sleeps,
Dreams of metal songs, winds sweep
Over a half-empty house, a slowing starts
Towards the hours relucant to pass.

She finds his dive slate tucked in a crate,
His writing still legible, saying to her
That what she sees are fish eggs,
Little sacs of life, small sizes of hope,
Oceanic youth, tart as bourbon, legs
That kick in unison through thickness,
A diligent emergence, rising and falling,
Hand-in-hand, inside the salty earth.