The Maynard
Spring 2020

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#teamkoi ¹

We scrolled past the headlines at first,
too used to stories of quirky pests.
Even though it was cold,
someone printed T-shirts
on demand. It was winter,
dark and otherwise quiet:
below lily pads, under lotus roots,
they would have nursed
new rings on each scale
for the close of another year. This is how jewels
sleep, how their sparkle grows
like fond memories
that come back each morning,
when it’s time to feed the fish again,
or the habit of a kiss. What glows,
however quiet, can be hunted, easily,
even through deep water.
#teams #teeming #ottersarepredators #takingcount

We found evidence, later—
by the pond, where we walk,
letting beauty discover us
even in winter, softening from stealth frost. Scales spread out like rose petals—
shimmering in morning mud, greeting the late
sunrise with colours that might still have grown.
We tried to explain to the blog writers,
the radio, the evening news:
how they were scattered
from the pond’s edge,
how that morning was
different from our daily
riches, how the sparkle
was small, not fixed
like a number sign, not a compound tagline
but all letters in every language:
making us wish we could read them.

¹ In November 2018, an otter found its way into The Dr. Sun Yat-Sen Classical Chinese Garden in Vancouver’s Chinatown and began eating culturally precious koi from the garden’s pond. This poem is inspired by social media commentary and stories from my aunt, Mary Campbell, a long-time volunteer at the Garden.