I wrote this poem in spring of 2021 in a year when there was a ‘fish kill’ on the lake my parents live next to. It felt like the world was still grieving as covid raged on with no end in sight and new variants popping up, even amidst the miracle of vaccinations. I lost a childhood friend who was my next door neighbor to suicide the year before in spring of 2020. This also still felt palpable.

Fish Kill

Familiar like the smell of other lakes at the edge of a pier

the lingering scent of dead fish is unmistakable,

yet odd for this time of year.

So much of life hinges on balance;

on the takes and the gives,

on what we can do with a little and what we cannot do without.

Some days, some years, even the Earth cries out –

in the form a fish kill.

It’s really sad, you say

The hardest part is getting rid of them.

The algae grows too thick and suffocates them,

won’t let enough oxygen in

You speak like a scientist

Masking their emotion, but I know it’s lingering quietly in the stillness

What’s he doing? I ask of the neighbor moving slowly near the grass

Burying the fish, you say.

But, why?

It’s all he can do, you reply.

I watch as you try to push a swollen carp out farther into the water,

hoping it will find its way to someone else’s shore.

But grief is persistent –

it won’t leave you alone,

it just keeps coming back.

It’s really sad, you repeat

You should talk to him, mom says barely audible,

as if she’s whispering a secret only dad can hear.

We walk back up to the house where I can see the neighbor laboring,

Still intensely focused,

eyes not leaving the task at hand,

shoveling dirt,

fish carcasses thud like a body slamming into a door

covering the mess that remains

to bury the things he can.