Ernest Hemmingway, The Fish That Got Away

Old man hands, rope-bitten, tough as reef— Cast out hope with each line’s heave. Dawn broke red over Gulf Stream bone, The sea, she whispered, leave it alone. Tug. A jerk. Then nothing but weight— Like pulling on the edge of fate. It ran deep, godless, cold and true, A thing too big for a world this blue. Reel sang like a drunk in pain, Salt in my eyes, sun on my brain. The boat spun slow in its quiet fight, While silence grew from a vanished bite. I lost it—yes. Not just a fish. It took something a man can’t wish. A piece of soul with silver scales, Gone where the dark tide never tells. I lit a smoke. I let it go.