Home » Poems » Paul Willason » Death of a Mulloway

Death of a Mulloway

It lay on the sand,
its bronze scales wearing
a soft shroud of moonlight,
a gaping mouth no longer
flushed by water but by 
the thin poison of pure air.

I reached down and ran
my fingers along the translucent 
mucus covering its body and felt
the deep tremble of a life
still fighting to free itself,
the muscles and taut 
sinews now stripped of strength 
could only harden beneath
the touch of my hand. 
It no longer moved but gave
an occasional soundless gasp.
I wondered what horrors
were flashing or fading 
in the recesses of its brain,
what it was feeling 
in those moments 
before dying.

Its upward eye was locked 
in a frozen stare, a black pupil
opening to a hole
that plummeted beyond 
earthly depth.
It seemed to hold me locked
within an orbit that had
opened around the gravity
an inpouring dark.
Fifty years on I feel
the draw of its stare,
the pull of the unknowable 
centered deep within
its eye, still slowly winding 
me in, only now
I am so much closer
to its rim.

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Suzanne Delaney

Date: 3/22/2023 4:19:00 PM

Some deaths touch us more, Paul: I spent one summer with my Dad out west at an Artesian bore. I found the skeleton of a cow who had been in calf. That smaller skeleton inside her bones has always touched me. I wrote a poem called “Small Echo of Death.: Best, SuZ

Suzanne Delaney
Date: 3/23/2023 5:18:00 AM

Thanks Paul: Your observations on the dying fish are full of insight which you portray with a deep sensitivity. You have honored it by this touching memorial. Best, SuZ

Paul Willason
Date: 3/23/2023 4:14:00 AM

You have described quite a powerful image Suzanne. I can see how it has found a way to be preserved in a poem. Thankyou for taking the time to read my meditation on the mulloway and for yr comments. Valued. Regards

Daniel Turner

Date: 3/12/2023 7:10:00 AM

This is amazing poetry, Paul A pleasure to read, leaving the reader to think about their own mortality and the fragility of life.

Paul Willason
Date: 3/12/2023 1:43:00 PM

Daniel, too kind in your comments, thankyou. Means a lot that a poem finds a friend. This poem was bubbling around in the subconscious for some time I think, suddenly popping out as if wanting air unlike the poor mulloway. Paul