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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