Sea Bream

Erin Hunley

She is a hollow

Log, pulled and pulled smooth by the

Hands of the green sea.

 

Gills feathered and still,

Dusted with grit, clogged and burnt

Raw red by low skies.

 

She is small on the

Beach crust, relinquished by the

Hands of the green sea.

 

The jelly film of

Her skyward eye an egg yolk

Ruptured by flies’ feet.

 

‍Let me set you back

Into those green hands, though they

May again let go.