“Two Small Fish” by Celeste Lipkes

Celeste Lipkes


I see you once
a month,

the calendar
like a net I sink

my hands into.
I know how to let

two small fish
feed five thousand,

how to kneel
at the stained glass

of a gill: our forks
tangling, my lips

at your throat.
Alone, I multiply

of brightness

until a night
catches us

not yet frightless,
& the last thing

I see is your eyes’
golden lattice,

blue breaking
behind it.

from Rattle #45, Fall 2014
Tribute to Poets of Faith

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Celeste Lipkes: “Having grown up in an irreligious household, going to church was, in many ways, an act of defiance. When I was diagnosed with a chronic disease at the age of 15, my faith was a framework on which to hang meaning. Christianity backdrops much of my work; writing often feels like God kicking me under the table, nudging me toward what is important.” (website)

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