with animal goo. Residue of breath
and struggle. The news gets worse
each day. All the fish go murky blind,
swim into cabins of reeds. Somewhere,
another gun, another fire. The fish can’t
find their way out. They wait for rescue
that doesn’t come. The fish end up
at the boggy bottom, flesh-rot and nothing
but a stand of marsh grass marking
their graves. A town of fish death
that continues to grow. We pile
our hurts in an inside place. They
turn into cities, they turn into worlds.
The Marsh Fills Up
Francine Witte is a flash fiction writer and poet, and the author of the flash collection RADIO WATER. Her newest poetry book, Some Distant Pin of Light, has just been published by Cervena Barva Press. Her work has been widely published, and she is a recent recipient of a Pushcart Prize. She lives in New York city. Please visit her website, Francinewitte.com. She can be found on social media @francinewitte.