essays by shé

Fish Friend

Green, silver, tiny, and in my face. Quick fish darts to my mask: once, twice, three times. It is possible to laugh through a snorkel tube.

I’ve seen at least 25 species of fish this morning. This one’s about an inch and a half, if that, two-tone: mottled green along the top half, silver along the bottom. When I float awhile, arms outstretched before me, it snuggles against my skin, rapidly finning to keep close. Big eyes, relative to its body, with a teeny undershot jaw. Cute little tail, pale.

We look at each other a long time. How would it describe me? There was this huge creature! Like a turtle without a shell. Weird limbs, attenuated, with small flippers at the ends. Very pale, except for fine seaweed at a knobby end near the torso, above humongous eyes. A couple dark blue and black stripes, crosswise.

We’re all mysteries to each other.

Blue Reflection Two, acrylic on paper, Shé 2022
Blue Reflection Two, acrylic on paper, Shé 2022





2 responses to “Fish Friend”

  1. Kevin Avatar

    This is a really nice piece–felt great to read it.

    1. Shé Avatar

      Thanks so much, cousin.

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