The Fish Head

Once, this hollow in a washed up fish head held an eye. Now it's just a skull, an escapee from a crab pot where it hung as bait to attract a wandering claw. I cradle it in my hands, its flesh picked back to bone. I see through its ghostly eye into a submarine world of weed and waving fronds tipped with leathery fruit, spiked urchins, dancing sea worms and teeth readied to seize unwary life. All seems horror, hidden menace beneath sand or tucked away in crevices. There, poison barbs, razor teeth, gullets big enough to swallow whole lay in wait and dream beneath moving shadows. And then, cast down from above, a barbed hook baited with subterfuge, sharpened to anchor hard in flesh and be hauled up to drown a victim in air. Fish….forgive me for having commandeered your eye, but I have done so to honor your short life before I lay your head down on the soft sand and let the tide take you away, forever.