Content Notes: mention of AIDS/HIV and death
Spring 2021
THE FISH SWIMS AWAY Nadia Niva I WONDER WHAT EARTH WILL LOOK LIKE FROM MY ROOM WHEN I GET HOME. IF IT WILL LOOK ALL WHACKED OUT AND WAVY IN THE MANY COLORS OF THE NIGHT, HOW IT WILL FEEL TO BE UNDER THE COVER OF THE RAINBOW’S SHADOW, CUPPED BY THE WINDOW, THINKING OF NOTHING. A Fish Wriggles Beneath The Surface And I Motion To Catch It Between My Fingers. I Palm The Water And The Fish Swims Away. TONIGHT THERE IS A MIDNIGHT SUN AND IT IS SNOWING BUT THE POND IS UNFROZEN SO THERE CAN BE DUCKS AND OTHER ANIMALS. THE GREEN SCENERY CASTS ITS REFLECTION OVER THE SCUMMY POOL OF WATER AND THE WATER CASTS ITSELF INTO THE LUNGS OF FISH WHO SWIM WITHOUT KNOWING QUITE WHERE THEY ARE GOING BUT WHO STILL ENJOY THE SWIM. I Remember Being A Kid, Living In Houses With Stale Air And Noticing The Bugs Crawling In The Room With Me. I Figured Each Of Them Felt Life The Way I Felt Life, In My Heart And Mind. I Couldn’t Imagine
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