This morning, I wrote a poem,
an elegy, with a mind of its own
a love letter for myself, my epitaph.
I am slowly filleting the body
out of the skin
beginning from the left
of an almost dead salmon
carving the cheap yanagiba I bought
at the near Japanese warehouse
horizontally angled across
its not so subtle scars
and slice into thin sliced cut
when it’s still awake
against this burgundy
blood-stained board
so he can taste better, this
is true to all animals
they taste better
when they’re hurting
while trying to wag their crucified tails
off of the nail that holds them,
circular and in the rhythm of their gills
like some kind of diabolical
ritual of dancing witches
for stirring cauldrons
to make poisons out
of daffodils and dahlias
that doesn’t smell
of my neighbors

Jeff William Acosta is a culinary student doubling up as a poet. His earlier works are in Scarlet Leaf Review – November 2020 issue (forthcoming) and The Dribble Drabble Review Issue 3, 2021 (forthcoming).

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