{exorcism by poem / knock wood}

I was not going to write a Laci Peterson poem. at all. no. then Friday night was all Laci nightmares all the time, so here we go. exorcism by poem (knock on wood.)

Laci Peterson's body, late March

perhaps I am a fish. the old
uncatchable whiskered, bloated, too
far down for hooks. do not
roll the stone away, I will not
be gone. I am here, deflated, a shelf
of rock the birth
and death-bed, I have grown
scales. gills for nipples, fins
to carry to carry to swim
this blue baby home.

2

I am a fish. mute and slippery, the weights
slide off, I move. my fish mouth gapes,
Connor sleeps, I have no ears now
to not hear him cry

3

a blind fish. deeper where the light
does not hit or filter, deeper we swim
close our wide fish eyes for good no good
in seeing the gone world, the man / we are fish.
not of him, not mouths that knew his

the water is a kiss, the gills thrill with it,
warm milk we let the tides
rock us, a lullaby toward forgetting

4

plastic blanket, the surface, let the bodies
to shore, physical evidence only. we stay here.
the wide-rock cave, a stone bowl

breathing. the boy growing a strong
spiny dorsal, my only, the soft
caudal fin the grey-green of amnesia

– he gets that from me, you know.