We Make Mud

The Moon is a Fish

One night, us brothers, we lifted up our fishing knives up to the moon and we sliced it open, we gutted it, the moon, just like we would a fish. Yes, the moon, it was a fish, floating up above us brothers in that rivery dark, and out of the moon’s big white beautiful belly buckets of fish guts came rivering out. Us brothers, we were up to our boy necks in fish guts and more fish guts. The river, too, it was a river of fish guts and rivering fish guts. Up out of this river of river and guts it was Girl who came walking up to us brothers, to see what it was us brothers were up to and doing, with our boy heads just barely sticking up out of all of these guts. The moon, us brothers, we lifted up our heads up to say these words to Girl: the moon, we told this to Girl, it is a fish. Girl looked up. She looked up to the sky, at the moon up in the sky, and then she looked back down at us brothers: us brothers just a couple of sticking up brothers sticking up from the river’s mud and the moon’s fish-gut heads. You can’t gut the moon, Girl said. She shook her girl head. The moon, it’s not yours for you brothers to keep. When Girl looked with her made-out-of-mud eyes down upon us brothers, we could see that her eyes, they were not their usual muddy moons. Girl’s eyes, the look looking out from the insides of them, us brothers, we could feel the sun inside of them burning out. It was Brother’s idea, Brother looked at me and said. Brother was the brother of us brothers, Brother said to Girl, who made us do what it was that we did. I looked at Brother then. There was this look that us brothers sometimes liked to look at each other with. It was the kind of a look that actually hurt the eyes of the brother who was doing the looking. Imagine that look. Look: I took back that look. I did not shake my head at Brother. I did not say to Girl that Brother was the brother of us who was making all of this up. Girl just stood there, for a while, above us brothers, and then, after a little while more, she reached down toward us brothers with her muddy girl hand. I’m only going to ask you this once, Girl said to us brothers then. Which one of you brothers did it? Girl said. Which one of you boys raised up your knife to make the moon into a fish? I looked up at Girl. I looked back over at Brother. I waited to see what was about to happen to us brothers next. It was a long few seconds. The sky above the river, the sky above the steel mill — it sitting shipwrecked there in the riverbank’s mud — it was dark and it was quiet. Somewhere, I knew, the sun was shining. I nodded. I knew right then what it was that I had to do. We were brothers. So I was the brother of us brothers who lifted his hand up. It was me, I said this with my mouth. I was the brother, I said this to Girl, who turned the moon into a fish. I am the brother of us who made this fish-gutted mess. Girl looked down at us brothers and she ran her girl fingers through her made-out-of-mud girl hair. You give me no choice here was what Girl said to us brothers next. Up at Girl, I nodded my boy head. Then I closed both of my eyes. I did not see it, but I knew what it was that she was doing, when Girl reached down with her hand and took the knife from out of my hand. I could hear her take it, this knife, with mud and more mud and fish guts dripping off it, and she ran it, dragged it, Girl wiped it, onto her girl leg. Then Girl raised it up, into the sky above us brothers, into the sky above the river, and she chopped off Brother’s head.