ello, jello

when you kill a fish, something happens. after you’ve lobbed its head off and are elbow deep in its entrails, after you’ve trimmed off its belly and collar for smoking, after you’ve slid your fingers followed by your smart blade down its spine to de-bone it, after you’ve partitioned the flesh into pieces to be fried or grilled or eaten raw and consumed or whatever, something happens. you think you’re all done with the fish, but you’re not. because it’s only after you’ve finished consuming the fish and are full of fish do you start finding the scales. scales on your face. scales on your hands, your collar, your spine. your belly. you only notice them afterwards – impossible to find until they’re already attached, already a part of your skin, already a part of you until they flake off on their own