Two Prose Poems
Meg Pokrass


He's careful crossing, when he is a man. He will remain in line. And when he is a fish, he swims in a school.

I've found his fish stomach. The creek is full of him.

How he swishes past the smaller ones, in their fish beds, a destination of fish, a fish among other fish.

I guard him, or else, prepare his agonizing death.


My hands are moving. Him. I remember the pictures. It is the dark room.

He is in deep water, and my body continues to travel.