—for JBV

Night after night, the fish in my aquarium

pull me in to a school of thought

ancient and deep, over my head.

So far I’ve learned that they’re hooked on life

as something intertwined with death

so I thought they should hear about the aquarium I made

in third grade, in memory of my sister-to-be

who arrived too early to survive: a shoe box lined in aluminum foil

with a fish of red construction paper

hung on black thread

one eye on each side, sparkling with glitter.

As I told the fish, even thinking about it

makes me swallow

like I did the other day

when I saw my friend ripple by

in memoriam, his entire life

in one thin column

filling my eyes

with his death.

The fish swallowed too—there wasn’t a dry

eye in the group.