I glide the knife starting where I’ve made an incision,
decapitated the bluefish silver head and body and keen
teeth thrashing three and half minutes after its head has been removed
I ride spine with blade the way the significant taught me hand
over mine sailing knife between bone and flesh pushing
my palm down careful to avoid heart gallbladder stomach bloated with sisters as I carve
liquid scales rippling the way the ocean ripples small waves
finding each other until they crest and blade splits the fish’s seam handle
slick scaly ironically the handle of a knife is also called the scales
but only if it is doubled as is the prayer’s tease
and ascent the series of keys that finds my ear a supplicant
what would a jackal god whose balance hangs like a chandelier
judge if I handed him the fish’s trembling stomach the pocket of her
devouring heart I’m no jackal god but fish I know you did what you did out of hunger
sometimes I think I could sever the significant’s leg if it would stop him
from one day leaving instead I gnaw off my own hand I’m not sure if this is love
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 24, Issue 6.
Moriah Cohen’s poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Best New Poets, Adroit Journal, Narrative, Gulf Coast, and Rhino, among others. You can purchase her debut chapbook, Impossible Bottle, or find more of her work at https://www.moriahcohen.com. Cohen lives in New Jersey with her two sons.
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