Little Fish
︎︎︎ Chelsea McCarthy
︎ Jan 19, 2023
Forever, I felt it coming.
That dull sound, ringing in two ears without working eyes.
Even now.
A big rock on a winter road.
Lessons in perseverance
and what it means to be smashed.
Taking flight to a new city
Your body swells
An ocean.
Drowning from the inside out.
A hole filled with light.
I clip your fingernails.
Six months of fading to green.
“You don’t need your eyes to see”
I say as you adjust to darkness.
Count to ten.
Two spoons breathing in synchronistic exhales.
Without windows
around a square table
in office chairs,
we honored your choice.
I stretched in a room down the hall.
I day-dreamt about the wind.
Everyone has had the same haircut for 20 years but my armpit hair was a problem.
I stand to your right until I don’t.
We are without, together.
Melting clouds and sudden beads of rain.
I am the sea missing blue.
I drink my own river, you know the feeling.
Drenched. It is as bad as it seems.
The silence of a faraway waterfall.
The emptying sound.
Like darkness during a new moon,
Where is your shadow now?
Your lips curled over your teeth.
Burned to ash, catch & release.
I wonder what happened to your screws.
A yellow fish.
The guilt of first laughter.
I close my eyes.
I am you.
Fumbling, reaching.
Rearranging.
Searching hands,
an outstretched foot.
I am home.
And here you are.
I don’t need my eyes to see.
What a gift you have given to me.
That dull sound, ringing in two ears without working eyes.
Even now.
A big rock on a winter road.
Lessons in perseverance
and what it means to be smashed.
Taking flight to a new city
Your body swells
An ocean.
Drowning from the inside out.
A hole filled with light.
I clip your fingernails.
Six months of fading to green.
“You don’t need your eyes to see”
I say as you adjust to darkness.
Count to ten.
Two spoons breathing in synchronistic exhales.
Without windows
around a square table
in office chairs,
we honored your choice.
I stretched in a room down the hall.
I day-dreamt about the wind.
Everyone has had the same haircut for 20 years but my armpit hair was a problem.
I stand to your right until I don’t.
We are without, together.
Melting clouds and sudden beads of rain.
I am the sea missing blue.
I drink my own river, you know the feeling.
Drenched. It is as bad as it seems.
The silence of a faraway waterfall.
The emptying sound.
Like darkness during a new moon,
Where is your shadow now?
Your lips curled over your teeth.
Burned to ash, catch & release.
I wonder what happened to your screws.
A yellow fish.
The guilt of first laughter.
I close my eyes.
I am you.
Fumbling, reaching.
Rearranging.
Searching hands,
an outstretched foot.
I am home.
And here you are.
I don’t need my eyes to see.
What a gift you have given to me.
Chelsea McCarthy is a multi-hyphenate creative who lives on a small island in the Pacific Ocean. Oscillating through the worlds of fine art, business, and wellness, she finds herself in awe. She’s currently in an era of saying yes and trusting herself.
Also by Chelsea: Maturation