Elizabeth Alford

Fishbowl

Flopping on the floor, covered in dust—that's how I remember you. I bought you the best food; brought playthings to appease you: fake plants, old shells, a tube to swim through, even a castle. I treated you like royalty; but you were, for whatever reason, unhappy. I guess we can only swim in circles for so long before succumbing to insanity.

another flake falls . . .
every day you say
you'll call