Lure
Susan Meyers
On an island off of Africa
men tempt fish toward their boats
with a song. Their voices shifting
the currents a little. The vibration
like a string, tangling.
Later, the fish, their speckled bellies
splayed across the flames. Bones
narrow as needles, or the light
between fingers. Do they regret?
Do they remember the sound, the pulse
in the water, quick and powerful
as blood? Or the canoe,
that terrible throat above them,
trailing its wide, white nets
like a prayer--
On an island off of Africa
men tempt fish toward their boats
with a song. Their voices shifting
the currents a little. The vibration
like a string, tangling.
Later, the fish, their speckled bellies
splayed across the flames. Bones
narrow as needles, or the light
between fingers. Do they regret?
Do they remember the sound, the pulse
in the water, quick and powerful
as blood? Or the canoe,
that terrible throat above them,
trailing its wide, white nets
like a prayer--