08/23: scales bent back

Ellen Roche
Aug 23, 2017 · 1 min read

He snakes a hand into the ancient gate

and feels for the key, teal up to the wrist.

He slides it out as though I sit in wait

of an anointing gap. He is amiss,

hair bunned, black-clad, a skinny, flat-eyed white,

my orange folding chair creak-clanks, my skirt

a long blue zip. The fish have lost their fight;

they’re airing out their grievances, their hurt

shows in their flesh, the scales bent back, the blood

in their eyes clotting in the fresh-crushed ice.

We are nice! In every language, we shove

off each to galaxies, each void a slice

of shared propriety-eternity.

He sneaks the door ajar and slinks for tea.

)
Ellen Roche

Written by

I’m writing a sonnet every day in 2018. Poetry / Portraits / Women’s History / Film Photography / Brand Strategy /Vintage Dresses / DC ellencroche.com

Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade