At Thanksgiving time
When I needed it, I guess,
There used to shine for me
A miraculous sign of sorts
Over my second-hand table
Through the kitchen window

This fish, an Ithaca, I think
Told me in no words
That I would have enough,
That there would be provision,
And most privately, that I
Would no longer need to steal

The fish projected all this
Through the dirty glass
I rubbed with the end
Of my sleeve to be sure
I was not seeing things
Like a Jesus fish in the air


Type your words here:

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s