Edited by Barry Kitterman | Andrea Spofford | Amy Wright
Rainbow trout, western native
her blush running from gill to tail
above her bone-white belly,
her body electrifying
when the current carries a taste—
something she must pursue—
driving her to slash the water
move alongside her prey from behind,
jaws snapping. And if she sees a caddisfly
set to break toward adulthood
she will bend every vertebra in her long back,
muscles heaving, to launch herself
into the desert of air, that
space above her heavenly dome,
to snatch this morsel
from among the hatching thousands.
Each evanescent kiss, Love,
offers to suspend us in such a moment
where all the elements converge:
the sun’s fire prisming through sprays of water,
air burning lungs,
the taste of earth in our mouths.
Lisa Charnock’s poetry won first place in the 2008 Powell’s Books Portland Poem contest, and her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Grist, The Cape Rock, Pennsylvania English, Evening Street Review, and Red Wheelbarrow. Lisa has studied under Ellen Bass, Danusha Laméris, Sharon Olds, Mark Doty, Tony Hoagland, Frank Gaspar, and Marie Howe. She teaches a bimonthly poetry workshop at the Salinas Valley State Prison.