I was five,
lying facedown on my bed
when someone stabbed me in the back,
all the way through to my heart.
I screamed & my parents came running,
my father carrying me into the living room.
We sat in the chair with the high sides
like wings. I kneeled on his lap,
my arms around his neck.
My mother sat across from us,
saying, honey, it was just a bad dream.
I looked over my father’s shoulder
at the dark ocean of air,
at the colorful, iridescent fish.
I tried to explain what I saw.
It’s your imagination, said my father.
The fish swam like brilliant magicians
toward the window. Then they were gone.
My parents didn’t know death like I did.
Or the fish, their strange beauty
my secret.
Copyright © 2025 by Susan Browne. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on March 4, 2025, by the Academy of American Poets.
