In the dream, sunfish were swimming through my ribs.
When I woke up, I googled sunfish as spirit animal, got: Freeloader. Clumsy. Weight Gain.
But that was about ocean sunfish. Not my sunfish. Not my lake. Somewhere, there is a child standing on a dock, wearing a smile and a lifejacket, holding up his sunfish, hooked. My children used to kiss their sunfish on the lips before they threw them back. I used to sing to my children, Three little fishies in a little bitty pool, boop boop ditem datum whatem choo.
As a child, I used to scrape the scales off with a spoon; the scales would end up all over me. In the memory, in a northern cabin, there is the sound of fresh sunfish frying, there is the smell, then the taste. Years, swim by. My little sunfish, smaller than a good fist, those sunfish days were not unremarkable, not overlooked. This is how it is being fluid
Previously published in Martin Lake Journal, Volume 3, 2020.
When I woke up, I googled, sunfish as spirit animal, got: Pre
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