Nausea

I feel nauseous

This morning my fish died
Or was it last night-
I couldn't tell you his exact time of death
It was sometime while I slept;
I, swathed like a babe in mountains of blankets
He passed away of fish hypothermia;
I had left the window open all night.

I feel nauseous

Hypothermia is supposed to be a peaceful way to go
They say you go into a state
Of euphoric shock
"So really," he said
"Right before he died, you gave him the greatest
Trip of his life."

I feel nauseous

He comes into my room in a panic;
I haven't been responding to his text messages.
The fish tank lies turned over on the floor
The small green pebbles scattered over the rug
Even pieces of his old fish food
Bloated with water, uneaten
Still clinging to an artificial tree.
"Don't worry Baby," he tells me.
"We'll buy another fish. It won't die this time."
He takes my hand.

I feel nauseous

Driving in the car
I turn up the stereo:
He turns it down.
"It seems to me like you've been awful distant lately
Ever since Valentine's day.
Are you doing alright?"
I turn up the stereo. I'm fine.
I let him grab my hand.

I feel nauseous

"What are you thinking about?"
He asks me in the restaurant.
We're eating salads, or at least
He is, and I'm holding a fork.
Nothing, I tell him and smile.
I'm thinking about metaphors
And the strange parallel of events
That occur in life.
The fish, my fish, it died.
I know that's significant somehow.
I'm fine, Babe. I jab my fork distractedly.

I feel nauseous