Naming the Fish

Today's poem is based on a phone call from my son, describing how he had taken his son fishing for the first time.

I could say that I made up some of the details, but that wouldn't be true, exactly ... the feel of the rod, the quivering fish, the sights and sounds that go along with fishing ... are based on memories of outings I had with my own sons.

The poem, incidentally, is part of a manuscript in search of a publisher.

NAMING THE FISH

First, there was the long

practice, getting the feel of the rod,

the flick that would send the lure

spinning out across the expanse

of driveway toward the evening sun,

the steady clicking of retrieval,

another flick, and another.

And now the blue water dazzles,

an early sun glinting, wind-stirred

ripples moving in such a way that you

feel you are moving, instead, drifting

toward some vague destination.

The sheath is removed from the barbs

of the lure now, a soft hum of line

extending, the plop, the long wait.

Then the line goes suddenly taut,

tingling, the feeling of life

racing its length, bending the rod

until, finally, the water parts

and you’re holding a slippery,

wiggling, gasping fish, looking

into its large, imploring eyes,

giving it a name, a person’s name,

then letting it slip gently back

into the water and swim away.

© 2006

Today's word: spinning