Your voice caught when
you tried explaining
what happened.
Most likely chemical
residue in the bucket
where you kept them
while cleaning their tank.
I would not let you
flush them. We dug
graves in the dirt
patch out back, placed
small stones on top
to mark their bodies.
The soil grew arid
and pale. Feral cats
dug up the fish.
You dragged a tarp
over the dirt and
gave the tank away
on Craigslist.
I’ve seen you cry
other times since then.
During movies
about boxing. At your
third wedding.
The last time
was at a dinner party
where no one
believed in God.
You read an excerpt from
A Pale Blue Dot
in lieu of prayer,
shared the photo
that inspired
Carl Sagan to write–
the Earth a tiny fleck,
Voyager’s last gift
as it spun out
of the solar system–
all of us captured in it.

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Grace Mathews is a poet and educator from Los Angeles, CA. She is currently an MFA candidate at San Diego State University, where she teaches writing and serves as the Social Media editor for Poetry International. Her poems have been published in Terrain.org, The Los Angeles Review, and Zone 3, among others