Fishing
My grandfather says we can eat what we kill.
We wade into the water and find a shark.
In the latent night, we carry it home across
the mountain. I memorize the way your feet step
before mine, . . .
Brick, a literary journal
Brick
PO Box 609, Stn P
Toronto, ON M5S 2Y4
Canada
Each poet will write / their own hell. In mine, like yours, / I’ll be condemned to beauty. — Yusuf Saadi