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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.
Copyright ©
James Mclain
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