Sardines brooch by Hattie Carnegie

Best alive and swimming, yes;

the slip-quick flitting

the feasts of phytoplankton

still, there was some release in

the later capture

the shucking of the vital parts

the fervour in the cleaving

how we gasped, flopped—

the white-hot air

the mess pressed into

the grim encasing

what of it? I'm bloodless now.

and blunted by the letting

I've compressed my flesh

to dense enamel, carved

these placid smiles;

and the tin remains the same

pinned to your chest,

to win the race

to every threshold

yet anchored

and freshly inedible

your food moves before you.