ON FISHING
by Isadora H. Petrovsky
What will you do when the earthworm leaves you? Why will the earthworm leave me? What will you do? I will turn to the seafood as I have always done. And it will leave you too. What then? Why will the seafood leave me? What then? I will turn to the starlets to guild me. And when they fall from the skylight? Why will the starlets leave me? Because they do as you do. Leave? Drivel ichor into the volcano. What will you do when the eater leaves you? Why will the eater leave me? What will you do? I will turn to the seance as I have always done. And it will leave you too. What then? Why will the seance leave me? What then? I will turn to the staterooms to guide me. And when they fall from the slander? Why will the staterooms leave me? Because they do as you do. Leave? Droop ichor into the vomit. What will you do when the earth leaves you? What then?
Note: As April is national poetry month, I’ve been sharing some poems from friends and fam to showcase my local poetic network. It’s been fun! I hope to do it more often. Please please please, if you have a poem or poetic writing that you feel comfortable sharing, send it my way and perhaps we could feature it in this newsletter! This week, a friend and MFA peer—Izzy!
Izzy is not a poet
—or at least that may not be the first word she’d use to describe herself. That’s one of the reasons “On Fishing” is such a special poem; it proves that one need not see themselves as a capital-p “Poet” in order to create poetry. Rather, poetry is a way of seeing, investigating, hooking, and reconsidering the world around us. We are all poets once we allow ourselves to be so.
In the absence of literal logic and in the embrace of metaphorical absurdity, this week’s poem reignites a flame of introspection that pokes more than it pacifies. Punctuation is my favorite part about “On Fishing.” A majority of the lines and sentences end in a question mark, curved and searching. Lines that do offer a period—declarative and pinning—don’t necessarily arrive at an answer to the questions; they often repeat or complicate the images presented. This in turn compounds to the questions raised—how should we “drivel ichor” and what “volcano” are we (metaphorically or literally) faced with?
Question after question, marked by curved lines that hover over dots, intensifies the repeated language. It’s as if each “line” is cast out by the speaker in an attempt at finding a bite, making a catch, and reeling in an answer. The poem has plenty of bites—earthworms and eaters and seafood—yet there are more questions found in the search for an answer. In this way, the question marks serve visually and metaphorically as “hooks,” using lines of poetry to reach towards an inevitability we’re all already ensnared in. Catch and release all you like, but the questions remain.
Thanks to Izzy for letting me showcase her poem, which was written spontaneously along with my favorite N+7 machine, which you’ll probably recognize if you are a regular around here.
Isadora H. Petrovsky (she/her) is a speculative fiction author, who aims to draw forth the inherent queerness of the SFF, fairytale, historical, and gothic horror genres. She is currently attending the MFA Writing program at UC San Diego. Her most recent work is “Turn & Run” with Bitter Pill Press. To keep up with Isadora’s work follow her @izzypetrovsky on Instagram or visit her website.
Then, Ricky