Really Good Poems by Alanna Bailey

The Unknown History of the Flying Fish



Quick as the leap from water— it arises

again longing in all its umbrage, its yolk

touch and fickle memory of love. Fingers


running through the boy’s soft curls

in his sleep, that instant birth of the second

skin. Memory of when he turned his cheek

and head and palm—of the winds, when


they changed, the compass rolling over

on its side. The skin growing thicker,

ravenous over the flesh, the scales, each


notch tacked into the bedpost. Memory

of that last kiss settled low in the gut, perilous

as fog harboring the ominous quiet of a hunting


party. Hands losing grasp in their shift

into fins, into something between wings and fins,

losing grasp. The crude awakening underwater,


between wings and fins. Constant prayer

immediately thereafter to shed the scales. Memory

rising up; the clouds, the wind. If only


to touch a feather, to be wrapped in that precious air

once more. Longing is the bridge— pulling together,

pushing apart, between wings and fins, the horizon.




One Comment

  1. I saw a way out
    I saw hope but no way out
    what’s in the dark must come to light
    our hearts trully shine so bright
    my faith my guide
    my pleaset dream that guides me through the night
    I am Ashley…..
    I shine so bright
    more than any star that shines in the sky
    I make a way
    I see a away
    I take it and I break free
    and then I set off and now I am free
    This is me.

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