Miho Nonaka-I

Afternoon with Koi

 

 

The old moss garden gives off

a lime-green light, even

 

while the day stays overcast.

By the lake, I lean over the parapet

 

to watch Koi start gathering

under its shadow. Behind me

 

is my mother, saying you could

eat them like any other fish,

 

but first, you must move them

to pure water and wait a month,

 

until they give up all the silt

they’ve accumulated inside over

 

years. I must have been naïve

to think that evil lives only

 

outside, the ritual of sprinkling

salt would kill every dirt particle

 

of death that has followed you

from the funeral you just attended.

 

And still, all I see from here

is sheer elegance—Koi twisting

 

their bodies tattooed in some

ungodly dream, each self packed

 

with pearls of fat, making the claim:

No transcendence without flesh.