6 October 2024
By Philip Kuepper
Again, today, my creel
is overflowing with the fish
of poems that have caught themselves,
and found in my creel a home.
There swims the Sacred Salmon,
the Salmon that swims
among the roots of the Yggdrasill,
at the foot of which mystics sit.
No way am I going to
gut and serve it.
There swims the miraculous
draft of fishes, of which
I am encouraged to take, eat,
for these are of the Body
that saves, the Body
born of the Word.
There swim rainbows.
They glow, food for the soul;
and bass, flashes of silver,
electric as lightning.
Hmm? How to prepare those?
There swim sunfish, delectable,
flesh to melt in the mouth,
fish so numerous,
I will lay a banquet,
throw open the door of poetry,
and invite all passing,
‘Come, feast.
The platters are abundant,
the wine, aged.
And for dessert? Praise.’
(9 September 2024)