The Silver Fish

I killed a great silver fish,
cut him open with a long

thin knife. The river carried
his heart away. I took his

dead eyes home. His red flesh
sang to me on the fire I built

in my backyard. His taste
was the lost memory of my

wildness. Behind amber clouds
of cedar smoke, Orion

drew his bow. A black moon rose
from the night’s dark waters,

a sliver of its bright face
reflecting back into the universe.

Poem copyright ©2011 by Shawn Pittard, from his most recent book of poems, Standing in the River, Tebot Bach, 2011. Poem reprinted by permission of Shawn Pittard and the publisher.