The Catch

24 February 2019

By Philip Kuepper

A field of shattered sapphires lay the sea
in the hot, still morning,
a luxurious carpet,
on which appeared woven weather-worn boats,
work boats already back
from the night’s catch
(fish like onyx netted in a jet sea)
the morning light revealed to be
mackerel, herring, crappie.

They shone!, like brilliants catching the sun
as they arced and flipped,
piled wet in crates,
as they were lifted ashore,
and trucked to market, the sea’s mysteries,
embodied, solved,
mysteries I could hold in my hands,
mysteries to be gutted, eaten,
ancestral mysteries I could
become one again with.
I was caught by the catch.

(3 January 2019)

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