The Carp

The carp
lie heavy in the bathtub,
the green-gold scales
heaving steadily,
the warped gills 
breathing
-constancy.


Its great arched back 
nipping the waterline,
this fish, so powerful
in the tap water.
Encapsulated here,
as though for observation.


We stared
with bright wide eyes
into its own,
the jewels of the soul-
for each thing which breathes
carries something greater;
something was nestled in this
ancient beast, with mouth gaping
-the noiseless sucking sound 
its fish-lips made in the lukewarm
atmosphere of the apartment bathroom.


The dim incandescence played shadows
across the back of the creature as
we pressed our noses onto the tub ledge
to look closer, watch each scale ripple
as though painted on by meticulous hand.


But to touch this slick body
was to go to far,
as it sat in the silent water
under our laundry strung up
on the line, across from the window
as street noise poured in.
Did it fathom the life
outside its makeshift aquarium-
observation gallery? Could see the 
neon at night, did it breathe in
the smells which drifted from the kitchen.


Did the noble fish know,
in this yellowed bathtub,
this sign of wealth that 
lie languid in the stagnant water?


It lie still
with clear eyes and 
twitching whiskers,
ancient calm,
placed here before
us in the shallow pool.


(Also, this is actually a real thing people do, keeping carp in their tubs- it's apparently a Polish Christmas thing, so they can later eat the carp...)