Treasure

Rebecca Oxley

Anything can be critiqued I think as I halve
Then quarter the still-steaming potatoes,
Like how I didn’t pull from the ocean the haddock
I’ll use in the chowder. I was one of only three
Who didn’t spill their guts over the side.
The fish I pulled up was an under-
Sized pollock that I returned, tail flapping
An unsayable rhythm to the deep.
Brian pulled up the haddock, the
One that trip, his big Bostonian hands
Trawling up from frigid waves the verdigris body,
A veritable treasure. He and Rick and I
Stood our ground as the others drifted
Into the cabin or back to the stern to answer
Treasonous guts. It’s one filet of his catch
I’m dicing potatoes and heating milk and cream for.
It’s the gift of half a fish I didn’t do anything I could think
Of to earn, half of one fish brought back by 15, 14 of us
Empty-handed. It’s the gift I didn’t request,
That Staff Sgt. Clifford, and Gagnier, and Lucy scowled
About as I was promised it. I’d been there
To see the fish die, the fisherman win. I’d sent
My haul back to the school it came from, I’d been
There on that drifting boat to try something I’d
Never done before. Maybe he knew I was ready
To try again, that I’d learned that if the sea would not
Answer my persistence, patience must in time
Reel in a kind of victory; the weight of half of one life
Just when I was ready to walk away with nothing.