Fishing in the Sea

You remember the night.
I was dressed up in the costume
with the fishnets.
I might have settled for crabs,
but instead
I caught you,
another fish in the sea.

I really didn’t plan it out.
Didn’t mean for it to turn out this way.
And I don’t mean to sound unromantic,
but I have no idea why we’re still together.

Still I must admit, it was a cheap beginning.
As a young girl I probably didn’t imagine
meeting my future husband that way.
But maybe there was something about my lopsided cap
or the run in my stockings
or maybe you just felt some softer skin
that made you think
you’d struck human.

Anyway, while I was fishing
for crabs
I instead found an oyster.
Painfully shy, you stuck around.
I was never sure why.
And you would crack open your shell
every now and again
for a moment or two
and in spite of me
you saw our future
and the world
as open and as perfect and smooth
as sand
and you gulped it in
and let the residue of everything
sit in your stomach for six years.

And then one day
for no particular reason
you opened wide
and popped out a pearl
and it landed in the hollow in my neck
between my collarbones.

I believe that ignorance is bliss.
I don’t believe that bliss is in your kiss
or in you
or even me
but in how we keep shifting
and growing
with the universe
and accepting that
there is really no reason
for us to have met
or to have stayed together.
And that there is really no answer
for why we’re here at all
unless we make one.

And we did
one night
when I wasn’t doing
much of anything
except fishing
in the sea.