Shopping for Eels

Pretending to be enchanted

we drift off from the seasonal market

no family to cook for

to the gravitas of the fish stalls

their white vans reversed up, backs thrown open

fresh as the vendors scooping brine into geometric trays, kneeling

no ice — Baltic sea

They lift the eels

silver entwined strands; loving each other

into boxes, for our eyes only

piccolo-gills opening, shutting

one chooses your hand/arm

and we are told it’s carp for Christ’s birthday

flat-faced and palmed onto a serving platter at midnight

berlin lit