Fish bones

After Stanley Plumly

 

The end, I think, will be a little like waiting up for supper.
I will prepare the steamer, rub a whole eel in black bean
sauce, cradle it in a stainless steel plate over boiling water.
Meanwhile, the steam churns and the wind rises from the cold
dark earth to carry you home. I waited for a hundred lifetimes
to meet you, 7 days for you to return and 12 minutes to douse
this fish in soy sauce. The shape of you arrives at my door,
adjusts your bra, accepts my offer of a hair tie and takes your
time with the bones. In the prickly seams between teeth and
flesh, we are sirens again, reckless with our slippery skins
and songs of wreckage. If they must ask you about your sins,
tell them you’ve braved the sharp edges. Tell them you tasted
this life whole.