Trout, Caught
I say, “I’m
Sorry,”
To the watery eye
Of the trout I’ve just caught.
Holding its glitter of scales
In a tightened caress,
The knot of my hand
Gentle but sure this fish
Will not flap away, home;
No mirror of the wild flashing
Of the previous slippery
Splash and slap struggle
On leaving, hooked,
The stream of all
It could know.
I am sorry, and
Hiking back up
To camp’s warm
cook-fire glow,
I whisper,
“Thank
You.”
Teresa McNeil MacLean
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