for goldfish that remember seaworld
near 67th avenue, street of neon says jesus saves
and I dream each night, about losing you
to routine traffic stops—where bullets turn
off body cams and graffiti makes you landmark
at this hour, consider what a goldfish would do
to escape sea world. fish scales tweezed off
carnival acts. fish scales for a bus ticket. Fish
scales for a new apartment away from a street of neon
at sea world, an orca bloodies water. tilikum turned
water to a brand disaster, jesus of an enclosed sea.
michelle was jesus of crossed legs and summers
we turned pretty
everyone knew how shiny gold scales made meat—
including adults. including the sea world employees
that trained us tricks. jump through fire, eat from
hands, circle circle round as areolas
business men spent their savings on streets of neon
jesus tried to save us, too
Copyright © 2026 by D’mani Thomas. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on June 26, 2026, by the Academy of American Poets.
“This poem was started in 2025 near Bennington, Vermont, during my month away at the Outpost [Foundation] Residency on a property bordered by corn stalks and morning deer and crickets that wouldn’t stop chirping. After returning to East Oakland, I was greeted by a speeding cop car down 98th; and mid-blur realized my nervous system had forgotten the sound of a police siren. For weeks after, I thought about goldfish and their ‘simple’ lives. The misunderstanding that they forget each loop around their fishbowl. This poem is grappling with power, coercion, faith, and what it means to grow up as a little fish in a pond shaped by illicit economies.”
—D’mani Thomas
D’mani Thomas
