the sound of sobbing fish

A poem for all the sobbing fish out there

I like to think fish grieve too and that they look up at the moon during migration and call the moon, grandma moon just as I do.

Do they anchor themselves to the idea that everything changes?

Most likely — because how do you live in a place, and notice the world is burning around you and not grieve the present, future, and past?

Grief swims upstream.

It rides the eddies of the stream, uses the water as a guide and the water’s energy to move forward. That’s why I found myself at the river often. Because maybe one day I’ll hear a sobbing fish and it’ll remind me that my grief is carried the same way— flowing down many streams, in different directions anchored by change.

The title wasn’t meant to make sense but grief doesn’t really make sense either.