there’s a fish head staring at me
his one eye russet like potatoes back home
but these are golden
earlier today I saw a sea turtle breach
by the bow of the boat before diving down a
million meters and I couldn’t see him anymore
that turtle may have known this fish its tiny
bones protruding to space as my
tablemates cut portions from its belly
they pass the tongs to me and I look around
at where I am now – the cutting rocks
ragged shrubs in aquamarine
there was a cave carved into the side
of a mountain for wartime submarines
seeking respite from battle
spray-painted words in foreign languages and
broken metal bars I avoided as I swam
deeper and deeper away from the sun
consumed by dark I found myself
wondering how I made it so
many miles to this place
what distance the owner of this restaurant traveled –
twenty knots an hour from the nearest wharf in a
fish-filled dingy that may have passed me
the eyes look at me as I think about
my mother oceans away that dreamed
long before I was a thought to her
dreams of blue water and battleships
slow-cooked meat and almond pastries
she settled for a wedding cake
the difference between us only form
like sea turtle and whitefish trapped or
free to paint the adriatic floor
in fluorescent green I pass
the tongs on by me and let my plate
stay empty for once
his one eye russet like potatoes back home
but these are golden
earlier today I saw a sea turtle breach
by the bow of the boat before diving down a
million meters and I couldn’t see him anymore
that turtle may have known this fish its tiny
bones protruding to space as my
tablemates cut portions from its belly
they pass the tongs to me and I look around
at where I am now – the cutting rocks
ragged shrubs in aquamarine
there was a cave carved into the side
of a mountain for wartime submarines
seeking respite from battle
spray-painted words in foreign languages and
broken metal bars I avoided as I swam
deeper and deeper away from the sun
consumed by dark I found myself
wondering how I made it so
many miles to this place
what distance the owner of this restaurant traveled –
twenty knots an hour from the nearest wharf in a
fish-filled dingy that may have passed me
the eyes look at me as I think about
my mother oceans away that dreamed
long before I was a thought to her
dreams of blue water and battleships
slow-cooked meat and almond pastries
she settled for a wedding cake
the difference between us only form
like sea turtle and whitefish trapped or
free to paint the adriatic floor
in fluorescent green I pass
the tongs on by me and let my plate
stay empty for once
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Savannah S. Miller (she/her) is a writer across genre and form. Her work has been published or is forthcoming with the Rappahannock Review, Jelly Bucket, Modern Language Studies, Watershed Review, and others. She is the author of the poetry collection Route 460 (Red Rook Press). Her play The House will receive its world premiere production in 2026. Read more at savannahsmiller.com.
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