surgically cut from here to there.
belly up in the lather of shaved ice
behind the slant of glass,
my cheek limp where the hook went in,
jelled eyes, a stiffened spine.
i can still remember the ocean,
the wind of water in my fins,
the easy bend of body
through warm, then cold shadows,
a turquoise wash of light
upon my scales and skin.
i was perfect in form and color,
in purpose. my life laid out before me.
now as they come in white schools
and point, checking their lists.
i imagine a black numbered sign
staked near my head,
marking me up or down,
dollars per precious pound.
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