Front Porch Review
I keep a memory in my fish tank
surrounded by suspended algae
and fake olive pebbles, uniform in shape.
Subtle currents course through,
oblivious to the lodestone they circumnavigate
in their fifteen second round trip to the filter.
Outside, history is deteriorating,
coming apart in my hands
like ancient mortar mixed too thin.
Clothes no longer fit me just right,
sleeves, too short for my reach.
So, I shorten my reach.
The tank’s practically opaque now,
but I’m afraid to reach in
and disrupt these new life forms
only to disrupt the vision of old ones.
Afraid that from the saturation it’s changed,
afraid it’s too deep for my shortened reach.
Zebulon Huset is a teacher, writer and photographer living in San Diego. He grew up in Minnesota and soon after turning eighteen moved on his own, driving cross-country with an acquaintance in a Buick with only a tenuous low-wage job prospect. After almost a decade in skate publishing and waiting tables, he received his MFA from the University of Washington where he was Assistant Editor at The Seattle Review. Almost a decade since even then, he still occasionally takes his rollerblades to the skatepark—though it requires a lot more stretching and recovery time than it once had. His writing has appeared in Meridian, The Southern Review, Fence, Rosebud, Atlanta Review and Texas Review among others. He publishes the writing blog Notebooking Daily, edits the journal Coastal Shelf and recommends literary journals at TheSubmissionWizard.com.