Frogfish
After his bath, snug in jammies, he nurses for a long time. His eyelids get heavy, his breathing slow. He drifts off.
I offer him seconds. He refuses, tightening his lower lip in a silent “no.” With his cheeks puffed out, his face is now a rounded triangle weighted on the bottom. Under his lids there is a glimmer of pearl white. His eyes are darting back and forth like a deep sea fish angling for dinner swimming above. He is hunkered down in the depths of sleep.
Deep in his primordial dreams he is eating. His jaws ripple and he looks for a moment like he is pumping fluid past his gills. There is a furious underwater scene playing out in his expression, months of liquid darkness returning. Tiny blind fish dart away.
And then he stretches, cries out. I switch him to the other side. He is just a sweet nursing baby again. Eyes closed, peaceful.
