March 11, 2012

Big Catch

















I feel him bite,
a fish way older
than my few years,
with hook set deep,
he pulls hard,
goes under the boat,
flashing life, then disappears.
When resurrected,
he's a hook-bristling survivor,
through long winters,
spawn to many fishermen.
His bloody gills
lay bare, his eye
a dark setting sun,
rainbowed gas floats
under him.
My father pulls
the motor rope,
we chug back,
clean my fish
in the still waters,
pack him in ice
for tomorrow's long ride home.
Sleep comes fast
for all our sakes,
cleansing the soul
as we cleansed him.