Evelyn Gill
—
TILAPIACULTURA
Coclé, Panama, 2005
Rows of tanks, like so many coffins
waiting to return. We make out movement
in the murk, scaled shadows riding
invisible tides. Tilapia are the future,
our guide explains, son salvadores.
When Jesus commanded Peter pull
the king’s tax from a fish’s mouth
it was a tilapia he netted. The guide’s
right hand rests on the concrete corner
of the tank, his left hoists a gallon jug
above his head. We squint to read
blue letters: metiltestosterona.
He sermons on. I catch what words I can—
cambio, desarrollo, hombre—the future
is male? macho? Anyway, bigger, meatier.
And again Jesus, this time walking on the backs
of so many fish, as if the Sea of Galilee teeming
with tilapia were miracle enough.
And I am reeled to comprehension: hambre.
Of course: the future is hunger.
The remedy: flesh
flaked on every plate—bodies
transformed to annihilation
reborn to the amniotic waters
of their mother’s mouths
only to burst forth
fully formed and start again.
Evelyn Gill (she/they) is a poet and nurse living in northwest Washington with her spouse and dog. Evelyn’s work is published or forthcoming in Gulf Coast, Fourteen Poems, Wildness, Cream City Review, Washington State Queer Poetry Anthology, and elsewhere. She is a student in the MFA Program for Writers at Warren Wilson College.
© Bear Review 2025
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Site Design + Build
October Associates
