Remember how Ernie used to go fishing? All the fish just flying into the boat? Bert hated him for it (and for everything else too, it seemed).
I, however, got my fish at our local big box pet store. I went in for dog food, and came out with a fish. He is a male beta, the kind that sit alone in tiny little cups because if put together they will bite each others heads off. In the past I have always avoided them, because I don't like to support such violence. But this time I was enamored and spent at least 20 minutes examining each one; he needed to be colorful, graceful, and of strong stock. He was going in my studio, and therefore needed to inspire beautiful art. I also got a little lump that you plant in the gravel and it sprouts into a plant, and the highest quality food pellets -- only the best for my guy. The rest of the supplies I had at home. My fish bowl had been sitting empty for some time.
I got the bowl in a thrift store in Minnesota, if I remember correctly. It is plain and old and made of heavy glass. The last fish who occupied it were Bob and Jerry, and unfortunately Jerry, like his namesake, died too young during the last week before my comps (big, important, extremely procrastinated thesis) were due. I think it was because he was swimming in filth. Other fish in my childhood have come to their deaths by way of Windex (dripping into bowl after my mother cleaned the bathroom mirror, not my fault) and by foot and vacuum (those were the jumpers, again, I was innocent). But Jerry was all me, and after six years of growing up, I think I can be a much better fish owner (my dogs, however, are not so sure).
So here is my dilemma. After three weeks (in which he has received regular feedings and two bowl cleanings, I might add) he still does not have a name. I usually name my pets after musicians or Grateful Dead songs (Bob and Jerry, for example, and our current dumb but lovable lab, Aiko) similar to my husband and his computers (Chinacat, Sugaree, Sugar Magnolia, Bertha, Dupree, Delilah) but this time, nothing has stood out, and I am willing to expand my horizons.
That is where you come in, dear readers. I know you are out there, I see the hits. It is okay to lurk (though I would enjoy a comment or two now and then) but this time I need your help. What should I name my fish? I am open to anything, and am eagerly awaiting your suggestions...
18 ½ bridge square
apt #1 northfield MN.
up dark steep stairs
next to the art gallery
and above the bank
(that jesse james robbed,
years and years ago).
it was convenient,
just down the street
from the coffeehouse
and the college.
the bathroom wall was painted black,
faucets dripped,
no window in the kitchen
so dark I hung a clip-on work light
when I cooked, steam rose
and moisture slid down the walls
and the plastic on the windows
keeping the heat in or the cold out?
not much warmth on either side
those long winters.
thursday was trash day
but only then, no dumpster or anything
so it piled in the entry,
the smell of coffeegrounds
and rotting fish.
bats in the hallway
cat crawled through the walls,
i would return her to my neighbor.
i hung jars with candles in the window
overlooking the square
flowers, benches, a popcorn stand
in the summer but it had wierd hours.
kids hung there on a nice day,
and late into the night
i could hear their conversations
girls with strollers, guys with drugs
police busted them a few times
never bothered us, though.
looking out, you could see
the river from there
the sound of water splashing
over the old dam
ducks, train song in the distance
still miss it some days,
it was a nice apartment.
