by Marjorie Simon

she, taller, with a courage
if I ever had, buried long ago
swims as if the fish she follows
and not I spawned her.
We share bread scraps, point at
sergeant-majors who circle,
tails flipping as they nip at
swollen crumbs. Below us
blue and orange angel fish.
We speak with eyes enlarged
by tempered glass, grunt,
mouths puffed over snorkels.
Once I marveled at her tiny fingers
pressing one of mine, small
babe to feed watch grow let go.
How quick the years from one
until the other.

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