The Fish

I caught a tremendous fish and held him beside the boat half out of water, with my hook fast in a corner of his mouth. He didn’t beat his tail or flop his fins, but lay like a grunting log, snapper’s blue and silver, with speckled, fat, and big eyes.

Fins like a green lightning, purple combs, vibrant colors, the look of ancient reflection, it was not the fish itself, but the glory it represented, out side of me.

As I let it go, I thought how these qualities should not be lost. The beauty of life, never give up, not even in the cold water, wherever you may alight.

The dew on its fins was like a barrier to me, I looked at it glinting—the bigger catch. It gave me all triumph—the struggle was worth it, but more than this was what it left with me.

• Marianne Moore