I released our two goldfish last week into a friend's pond, it was swimming with a dozen or so smaller fish. Pancho and Amber are now the big kids in the reeds and lily pads--no glass-wall holding them back. 

I miss their quiet wisdom and patience, the way they trusted me to feed them, clean their tank, sing to them while I folded clothes. (They lived in the laundry room. They had a nice view to the north and on the wall a pin-up of two wild and burly fish.) 

I bought them to replace a hole. 

Some holes can't be filled. 

They got too big for the tank, for my heart. 

Close to the Surface

Their roots began long before they were imagined by me

yet somehow they were always to be mine.

They came between my very shores,

rivers of blood and mucus, sugar and salt.

They slithered, later walked upon shiny waters,

opened the way to miracles,

and later faith,

if this is what love defines.

Each of them left with a piece of a tooth,

for trade they offered me thin silver streaks,

some call stretch marks,

shimmery like minnows

close to the surface of the pond

that helped to raise them.

So many things

all touching one another.

Snowball fights, macaroni art, small metal cars.

.

The tooth fairy, hats worn backwards, campfires,

spilled milk

.

all this and more.

Nothing will compare with how my heart has swelled to this 

enormous size.