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by Cynthia Mellott
When we were little at the seaside,
My sister and I caught a shark,
His infant fin cutting through the surface
Of the shallow gully water as he swam
Abandoned by the retreating sea.
We herded him like awkward shepherds
Into my sister's sand pail, where he lay
Looking at us through slitted green cat's eyes,
Strange shadows cast on his pebbled hide
From the sun shining through the bucket's side.
We wanted to keep him as a pet,
But a tall boy took him from us and
Flung him back into the sea.
I wonder, would domesticity have reduced his
© Copyright 1997, Cynthia Mellott, All Rights Reserved.
© Copyright 1997, 2019, The Fairfield Review Inc., All Rights Reserved.
Document last modified on: 12/01/1997