by Beth Houston
It’s not a shell, as often thought, but bone,
A piece of sail cat catfish skull, the part
That looks like God hung on the cross, weird clone
With spear wound. It’s a fishy work of art
That’s good luck if it rattles like the dice
Thrown by those soldiers gambling for Christ.
Specifically, his garments. That’s the price
This catfish paid to rouse its hallowed heist.
That picked skull cross bone’s magic rattle? Two
Small boney structures fashioned so the fish
In water maintains balance. Just so you
Can hook and gut and walk. Go, bank that wish.
Just soak the crucifix in bleach and rinse.
Your fish tale will the less evolved convince.
Beth Houston has taught writing at ten universities and colleges in California and Florida. She has published a couple hundred poems in dozens of literary journals. She edits the Extreme formal poetry anthologies. https://www.bethhouston.com
Hawaii Pacific Review 