Michael Hardin
Shedd Aquarium, Chicago
My daughter has never seen
fish,
not really,
only in her picture books,
rainbow shiny,
and a goldfish on Sesame
Street.
Through the plexiglass
they swim
in and out
of her image.
Her first sonogram,
revealed the fetus-fish
the coelacanth,
the remainder
of our great grandparents,
clung
to in our genes,
expressed
for a week.
She doesn’t care
about biology,
just fishies,
she stretches her arms
to cuddle the tank.
In the underwater viewing
room,
a beluga,
distant cousin
who rejected feet,
greets my daughter
with its baby face
a touch of Down Syndrome,
like the boy at her daycare.
She rests her cheek
against the glass,
waves, turns, and grins
at millions of years of evolution.
When we return to the
hotel
she draws her arms and legs
beneath her to nap.
Bio:
Michael Hardin...
