Remora (Latin for Delay)

My shark mother
flies me through the reeds,
up and out to where
the water is deeper
under me, under her.

I have found
a good place
to attach.

I don’t worry much.

We have errands today.
She is hunting, will pass me
the pieces she doesn’t need.
It will be some kind of fish;
I don’t need to know
how to name it.

Everything used to be someone,
and anyway, names tell lies.

For Open Link Night at dVerse Poets.