Fish

What happens when we die? 

I contemplate until the veins in my head pulsate from questioning the inevitable.

I want to come back as a bird. Or a dog. Or a fish. 

So I can feel water sloshing through my gills and not gasp for air. 

So I can wiggle my toes and realize they're fins. 

So I can be unafraid of the deepest, darkest depths of the unseen world. 

So I can be dumb, and stupid and free, unable to comprehend global warming, natural disasters, war,

disease…and then,

I get a hook in my mouth. 

I am flung to the surface against my will.

My lungs gasping for water, my fins useless in the toxicity of the air. 

I am terrified of the blazing sun frying my scales, the shoal wondering where I’ve swam off to...and then,

I am no longer afraid to die.