The Hardest Thing I've Done - Sept. 30, 2025

for three weeks she’s slowly skated

in circles around the bottom

bloated and upside down,

now laying on the pond’s mud

two gills wave as her mouth

slowly puckers for air,

is her dying with pain

and how can I know?

I decide to pick up the goldfish,

place her in a clean plastic bag,

seal it tight and slowly place

it in the trash bin

that last twist of her body in my

hand hurts so much I want to

hide or run, I rush to the garden

to putter and pull weeds

putting something I love out of

its misery is agony, its own

self-inflicted wound

exactly like my heart

falling on a sword