Christine Davis
The Fisher

The first time you dug into me
you hit sand, and then salt water,
and then shale. You said I felt
like the moon in the daytime,
waiting on night. You said you 
couldn't remember your own 
name. Around us orbited ocean,
I could hear my own breath 
echoing as if in a shell. There
was something neither of us could 
catch hold of. It floated and flexed.
Just there, we saw it for a moment,
together. 

_ _

Christine Davis lives in Flagstaff, AZ with her husband, Justin, son, Jett, and Molly the Adventure Dog. She teaches composition at Northern Arizona University, where she earned her MFA. Her work can be found in Four Ties Lit Review, Crack the Spine, Sanctuary Literary Journal, and more.

>> Back to Issue 21, 2018