hook we went fishing in the duck pond-- let my father skewer each wriggling worm on our hooks-- they spoke to us in a sign language we pretended to not understand-- watched them spell 'fear' in the contortions of their bodies-- handfuls of hearts-- i heard each one louder & louder until the hook entered their body & the worm coiled into herself to relinquish all semblance of language-- mute at the violence of the hook-- we dangled them to catch & release blue gills & trout-- sometimes we wouldn't have worms & my father would ball up potato rolls to stick on the end of the hooks-- no matter what i was always scared of getting them caught on my finger or any other part of my skin-- one year when the whole family rented house in cape may a cousin flicked his line back & caught his hook in his brother's freckled shoulder skin & with a flick of his wrist tore into him-- ever since i have trusted nothing about hooks-- so it is amusing now that i open my bed room window & sit on the ledge as if it were the rock we cast lines on-- this is another catch & release only this time i'm plucking out the stars & using them like potato rolls on the end of a hook that i found in the old tackle box in the garage-- i'm fishing for my body back after all these years of living between the hearts of a worm-- i'm here to eat my own sign language-- bite into a hook & watch it puncture my gums-- this is the only way to come back-- catch & release catch & release-- there are not enough hooks to hold onto my body-- i have gills as deep blue as the night sky in july-- all full of moon belly & lightning bug morris code-- i pull the hook out & the world tastes like metal-- i know i'll have to haul my body back up from the water again-- this is what healing feels like-- like fish hooks & stars rolled up like potato rolls & you father listening to your muddled sign language that neither of you understand-- this is how a body cries for help-- this is how you catch yourself-- hook in mouth-- release me when you're done so i can swim--