PF detail from Pierre-Auguste Renoir - Beach Scene, Guernsey (Children by the Sea in Guernsey) - 1883;


Copyright © 2011 Pirene's Fountain.


All Rights Reserved.

Tresha Faye Haefner's poems appears in several magazines, including AmarilloBay, AnomalousPress, The AnteReview, and BloodLotus. She holds a B.A. in modern literary studies from the University of California, Santa Cruz, and has taken independent classes with poets such as Kim Addonizio, and Sally Ashton. When she is not teaching, driving around the Bay Area, getting coffee with friends, or listening to new music, she can be found in her apartment, practicing the great art of being silent.

To Zarathustra | Blue Fish in February


To Zarathustra

                       Light inside a light house.
                       Dark world of a train.

This morning I wake before dawn. My kitchen cold as a clinic. Sky blue
as shadows on a temple’s walls.

               Somewhere in the ocean whales migrate up the coast
                       from Mexico to Alaska.

                       Ships cross the equator.

In a room, far away, a man I used to know,
rises from bed and covers
the blue whale tattoo printed
on his chest.

               Overhead astronauts fall asleep in space.

                       Moth white eyes of the stars
                               blink closed.

unlit in death camps
on the Sabbath.

                       I pray you remember us
                       in the dark before day.


Blue Fish in February

February 23rd becomes February 24th.

Our birthdays collide
like two fish swimming
in opposite directions.

The constellation of Pisces fills
the southern hemisphere.

Blue-tiger-like you move
through the labyrinth of time.

Figure rotating behind a curtain.
Moth flying past a screen door.

I walk the fields when I cannot sleep.
Above me the stars slip
in and out of consciousness.

This morning I wrote they were fish
disappearing into a sea that seemed

Tonight they return.

If you were here
I would place my hand
on the blue whale tattoo under your shirt.

Once the moon was a white rabbit.

The clothing of Yeats woven
from his dreams.

I see it as something different.

Stars, like fish,
swim apart in the southern hemisphere.

The hills are blue tigers
walking away in the distance.

This dark shadow is all I have left.

Your blue whale tattoo sinking
one year deeper
into the shadow of your chest.