The Hotel Goldfish
Would you like a goldfish? they askedat the hotel desk. A weekend pet?In my room, a globe of a bowl,one green frond, and a single fishwith diaphanous marigold fins.
I went about my business on this globe,a widow at swim.Tired, I’d return to the tiny lifethat by day two was greeting me,swimming to the edge of the glass.
I, too, come to the edge of my bowlwhen a light is turned on in my room.They wouldn’t even let me feed it —but what if housekeeping forgotits questing round black eyes,
that made me think of lovers seeking —Pyramus and Thisbe speakingthrough chinks in a wall — althoughour wall was see-through, oneI fled my business to return to:
a gold flicker in a roomdesigned in caramel and brownlike…
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The American Poetry Review (Digital) - 1 Issue, March/April 2025