tin fish dinner

here is a video of me when i wasn't hungry.
together we watch the school of fish
as they thrum in my iphone as if they will
never become a bite of salt & olive oil. 
lately, we talk a lot about whether or not
people are good. you watch too much true crime
& i harvest too many inspirational quotes.
once though, when i was sixteen i was alone
in new york city. no one knew where i was 
& i was wearing a blue knit hat & blue lipstick.
a man on the subway stayed with me
until i reached the station. he told me,
"there are more flies than gardens" & i still
have never known what it means. then, of course,
the man who lived above in the mountains.
how, when he made dinner, he would knock
& ask if we were hungry. i was starving. i was 
a single fish remembering what it felt like
to hum in my stewing manhattan august.
i never accepted his food. he smelled like mushrooms
& gasoline. used a walking stick he carved himself.
i am scrolling in the internet's guts
& i start watching videos of tin fish dinners.
a husband & a wife who pry open 
these little gasps of flesh. capers & vinegar.
sun dried tomato. the smallest forks
i've ever seen. we are living in a time of canoes. 
in the kitchen i taste a spoonful of the cabbage 
in gochujang sauce you've made. there are so many kinds
of tin fish dinners. what i loved most about the video
& why i kept returning to it was that
each bite was celebration. i do not want to ever
mistake smallness for emptiness. i don't believe
in good or evil but i do believe in sardines
& anchovies. i believe in the crooked smile
of a tin can. i can measure how far 
the ocean is from us in teeth.