I.
I know you’re up there.
I can see the
shadow of your boat, its
silhouette a
monument of broken promises
hanging above me,
blotting out that melancholy light called the
“day star.”
The light which would illuminate the
rocks and mud, the
moss and algae, the
snakes and snails and salamanders who have become
too
familiar,
were it not for the
shadow of your boat.

I have grown bored,
fisherman.
I have grown exhausted of this
game
where you heave your
gleaming
hook of
hope, those four steely inches of
escape, and
every single day,
every single worthless morning,
the hook embraces someone else.
What about me, fisherman?
Have you not heard my
prayers the last
hundred days?
Have I done something wrong, that I don’t
deserve your hook?
Take me, fisherman! Hook
me this time, by God!
Or am I damned to this so-called
life,
loitering in these
murky shallows for
eternity?
II.
I know it’s here somewhere. My
chance.
Steel and bronze,
point and shank and barb,
the only way out of these
loathsome
waters.
You’ve cast your rod, fisherman,
I saw you.
And I will take your bait,
I will bite your hook,
I will seize my
chance, if only I can
find it.

There! A glimmer!
For once, that
“day star” is good for
something!
As its ray dances off my
curved salvation, a minnow
sepulchered on its point, my eye
begs my body to
surge into motion.

Swim! Swim! SWIM!
Pushing through water, gliding over silt,
my tail waving
goodbye to my
neighbors who could never
fill my cup.
And I promise you, fisherman,
my cup shall be filled
today.

I open my mouth,
gliding to that perfect spot,
and as my lips
hover over that steel altar of
liberation,
my jaw tenses,
I take a
III.
BITE!
A valkyrie’s trumpet blares.
The point pierces me,
the barb plants itself in my skull,
the minnow rests on my tongue,
and through your expert instincts, fisherman,
you finally hear my prayer and the shank pulls

TIGHT!
With a shift, the hook drags me upward.
Brighter and brighter,
the warmth of the “day star”
caressing my scales,
I reach the surface of this pathetic lake,
the summit of Babel,
and inch by inch, fisherman,
you reel me in,
promising to finally make things

RIGHT!
My head pierces the surface.
This light is blinding now.
How did I not see the day star?
Have I gone so long without knowing the
truth of its boundless love?
And have I gone so long without these
flavors of light,
the red of your boat,
the blues and lavenders dotting the
trees, and all these
greens I never could have dreamed of?
But you don’t give me time for
regrets, fisherman,
You wrench your rod back
and my writhing body takes

FLIGHT!
For the first time in my life, I am
free of the water.
The world I know meets your world, fisherman,
as my body
shatters the ceiling
of the lightless valley I once called
“home.”
What’s this orchestra of brilliance?
And what, this kiss of wind?
I at once take in this “air,”
and my eyes make love to a
new sensation as
finally,
you and I are face to face, and
beads of my past
chase me to the future.

Our match’d throes call up a spray,
and intermixed with light of day,
this marvel signs my fate: a
MILLION
POINTS OF

LIGHT!!!

---

Lyn Good (they/them) is a Minnesota-based writer still embarking on the journey of finding their artistic voice. Their mission in life is shattering the boundary between dreams and reality.