Madeline Rose Williams
I didn't mean to buy a vase. I was looking for a bedside table, or lamp, but saw it shining on a shelf. Speckled, bluegreengold. So: I brought it home, thought — perhaps some flowers — and picked a few roses from the yard, clipped their thorns, trimmed the leaves. They rose up out of the glossy urn, perfume/velvet above cool porcelain. A few days later, I went to change the water; shook the stems into my hand. But then -- a sound, a splash, and, slipping into the sink, a silver fish. It beat its fins about until I caught it by the tail — dropped it in the vase, watched it churn the cool dark water. One bright scale flickering between a few floating brown petals. I blinked and blinked. But still, the fish was there
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April 2018
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