Your Sea Bass - William Doreski

Your Sea Bass

At the end of India Wharf
before they built the aquarium
you dropped a line, bait and sinker,
for the first time in your life.

The harbor light ignited
your blonde expression. The old men
who fished there every afternoon
applauded when you hooked a bass.

As I netted the slippery muscle
you cried for fear the hook hurt.
Behind us the custom house clock
aligned its hands for six PM.

Traffic on the Central Artery,
a green steel monstrosity,
sizzled in the heavy June heat.
You stared your fish in the eye,

made mouth motions like its own.
It felt like ten pounds in the net,
more meat than the old men had caught
all week. Hot wind ruffed the water,

striking an enormous shade of blue.
Unhooking the fish as gingerly
as I’d unhook you or myself,
I tipped the net and poured the sea bass

back into its environment.
The old men cheered as the creature
splashed a V for victory
with the fork of its powerful tail.

Profiled against the drifting
of the sculpted harbor islands,
you smiled so absolutely
I mistook you for the horizon.

Published in Aesthetic Creative Works Annual 2011 (2011).

William Doreski lives in Peterborough, New Hampshire. He has taught at several colleges and universities. His most recent book of poetry is Venus, Jupiter (2023).  His essays, poetry, fiction, and reviews have appeared in various journals.