FISH FLY at the BOSTON FISH MARKET - 1956

FISH FLY at the BOSTON
FISH MARKET - 1956


Some strange odor
of fish clung
to my clothes, and
Boston humidity
drenched my hair –

at five – seven summers
in a row – fingers clenched
around a wire fence –
waiting for dead fish to
fly – flopping onto a deck
where men used shovels
to load big trucks.

The big drop – a full
day of vacation at the
Boston Fish Market –
standing next to my
brother to watch dead
fish fly out of giant boats –
I never stopped pinching
my nose.

Why were grown ups
smiling and laughing?
Why were they taking
in that smell of dead
fish?

This trip – from the shore
had to be on the things
to do – list.

One August before
our trip - Mama
skinned me like the
fish at the market -
cutting off long
locks of hair –

In August – at the
shore, Mama said,
“It’s too hot for
this long hair,”
snip – snip – snip.

Well – if there was
such a thing as
“Mommy Dearest”
back then, while I
heard the snipping
of my hair – saw long
curls fall onto my Aunt’s
floor - I would
have sworn it was
Mama playing that part!

You see, she believed
her sister, believed
children carried
bugs to school –
but other girls didn’t
have to chop their hair.

It had to be that awful
smell of fish – she
probably couldn’t stand
the smell of dead fish –
but never told me. . .

I pranced around
the shore looking like
a tomboy that summer,
and I covered my eyes,
because my bangs weren’t
shielding me from the
sun – and I pinched my
nose, out of habit!
And felt bad without
curls…

The next summer,
I grew taller, hair
longer – and I knew
I still hated fish –
I still hated short
hair – and I knew I
never did have bugs,
since my hair wasn’t
cut!

Been to bean
town over and over,
but never looked
for dead fish fly
from a giant boat,
and never smelled
fish in a child’s hair –
nor did I ever chop
my daughter’s hair
in August.

Nancy Duci Denofio
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