Craving | Poetry

Emma Winsor Wood

In the aquarium, the fish “dart,” their movements “jerky” as if afraid I will “scoop” them out of the “water” and into my “mouth,” or “as if” they are tiny machines, programmed to “dart” so their scales “catch” the light “just so.” When “pregnant” for the “first time,” with a “daughter,” I began to eat fish for the “first time” in “twelve” years. I ate it “for” her, felt “no...

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