My mother, the fish

“My mother is a fish.”
from As I Lay Dying, by William Faulkner

calls from the Everglades
to compliment my body, she likes
the way it moves. called
twice yesterday to scream
about waste— my two cats,
no marriage. my body is
sick today, the fish my mother
bought rots in the refrigerator, she cries
when I tell her to throw it away. this body
predisposed to cancer, Alzheimer’s, heart
disease, trauma. she says
if she looked like me, she’d wear a bikini
all the damn time. mother
on the other end of the landline,
a dial tone over Queens.

Allya Yourish (she/her/hers) is a poet, a Fulbright alumna, and a Pearl Hogrefe Fellow at Iowa State University’s Creative Writing and the Environment MFA. Originally from Portland, Oregon, she has also lived in Florida, France, Malaysia, New York, and now Iowa. Everywhere she goes, she takes a small teal notebook and a navy pen. Her work focuses on building surreal images to discuss the body and its place within art and nature.