I was a child once
Following my dad's lead / I reached through the trout's
mouth / then gills / hesitated at the texture / and giggled
when my boy cousins couldn't do the same
My dad was never prouder / as I slid my pink camo knife /
down its belly / exposed the guts / and yanked them out
in one try / Then using my fingernails / I scraped out the remnants
We'd throw the guts back into the water / making it a game
of whose went further / and washed away most
of the smell stuck to our hands / on the lake's shore
Fish don't make much of a fuss when they die /
If I knew what suffering was as a child / I saw
none of it / They wiggle around and then they stop /
Now / when I watch the girl at the fish market
place her blade against a sea bream's belly / I wince
and turn away / trying not to watch while I wait
Everything that lives in water is / filled with a hunger /
We cast the guts back to the waves for a reason /
continuing an endless cycle / fish feasting on fish
That last summer on the lake / I must have lost my hunger
in the water / alongside my dad's sunglasses / And now
I can't drag that old knife through anything / but tape on boxes
Sometimes / I think if you split me open / the same way
I did those trout every summer / water would pour
from the cut / Whether it was saltwater or fresh
it wouldn't matter / It would be murky / with sand /
kicked up by the feet of kids playing along the shoreline
--Celeste J., Adult