[The Sunday Fisher]

About the text

Draft expanding on an old idea about an ice fisher who catches a talking pike.

Karin clasps her hands around her swollen belly. Her breasts have become heavy, and soon she will bring him forth into the world. Maybe he’ll be born without a head, the red flesh pouring with blood and afterbirth; or maybe with the brain in a membrane outside the skull; or with horns and a tail, or a furry back. Maybe he’ll have the face of a cat, or eyes full of pus, with sores covering his body. Maybe…