perhappened mag
issue 13: SALTWATER
to carry the fish
who would become a bird
PAM YVE SIMON
Saltwater fish.
Iridescent, luminescent
tangram scales –
anchored in place.
Tail fins –
a feathering.
Ah, for a fish to become a bird.
To join heaven and ocean,
as if
I could pull myself together.
I don’t know how to swim,
even in my dreams.
I was so afraid,
to get into the ocean.
I was pregnant,
and worried.
So you took me to a saltwater pool.
You convinced me: even with the weight
I was bearing,
I could float.
My pregnant belly interrupted
the horizon
of my thoughts.
The warmth of the water below,
the cold fear of life above.
A floating fish is dead.
A floating bird is alive.
A floating pregnant person
is trying
to be twice alive:
to carry the fish
who would become a bird.
Iridescent, luminescent
tangram scales –
anchored in place.
Tail fins –
a feathering.
Ah, for a fish to become a bird.
To join heaven and ocean,
as if
I could pull myself together.
I don’t know how to swim,
even in my dreams.
I was so afraid,
to get into the ocean.
I was pregnant,
and worried.
So you took me to a saltwater pool.
You convinced me: even with the weight
I was bearing,
I could float.
My pregnant belly interrupted
the horizon
of my thoughts.
The warmth of the water below,
the cold fear of life above.
A floating fish is dead.
A floating bird is alive.
A floating pregnant person
is trying
to be twice alive:
to carry the fish
who would become a bird.
Pam Yve Simon (she/her) believes in love and poetry. She earned her bachelor of arts in English and American literature from New York University. Say hi to her on Twitter @PamYve.