Fantasies for Fishes, or Fish, or Whatever Plural You’d Prefer, Really.

Bee Hyland

i.
the Potomac is home to an invasive species of fish
that can survive on land for up to four days
on account of something called labyrinth organs,
which they are not born with.

ii.
bruised ribs don’t take well to seatbelts
but we drove across the state border anyway;
we saw the other side of the river and
sat on that moss-covered rock, I said
push me, she said
since when are you a masochist, I said
I want to go in the water, I want to feel something, I said
push me, I said we can call it a baptism. I said
do you think this water will ever be safe to swim in? I said
did you see that news story about the fish
that can walk. she said
isn’t the plural fishes?
I said I don’t think it matters,
I think it’s just semantics.

iii.
she said, I’ll jump in, and I’ll pull you with me.
I said, I think my left wrist is sprained. so she took the right one and
at the midpoint of moss and mud I
heard myself breathing.

iv.
if possible, snakehead fish should be killed
at the moment they are caught. here is how
the Virginia Department of Game and Inland Fisheries
says it should happen. there are three methods:
one, decapitate
two, cut out the gills
  three, remove the organs and set them on ice.

v.
I have never seen a snakehead fish in spite
of the fact that I have always wanted to see one
crawling, breathing, because that is what they do to survive--
I have never grown labyrinth organs,
in spite of my need to survive on land
that I am not welcome on.
I have never seen a snakehead fish in spite
of the fact that I swam in that river for hours
in prayer that pollution would heal bruises.

vi.
the Potomac is not safe to swim in
but the Virginia Department of Game and Inland Fisheries
says that snakehead fish make excellent table fare.

vii.
here is a fantasy:
I am underwater and covered in lichen.
a fish is on land and it is breathing,
because it had the good reason
to grow labyrinth organs as it grew up.
I am breathing, too, but it is difficult
and the water swallows me.
fills me with dirt.
            decapitates.
  cuts out the lungs.
ices the organs.
but that feels a bit macabre, a bit
pessimistic, so:

viii.
here is a fantasy:
I am labeled an invasive species
and I crawl into the water,
and I survive there for up to four days.

Bee Hyland is a poet and fiction writer from Virginia, currently based out of New York. Her work can also be found in Love & Squalor, as well as several scattered corners of the internet.