A Choice

Slippery, blue and faded green
divided by blurred black lines
along your body, wall eye
toward me. You are a choice
laying in the belly of my hands;
thumb and fingers in a smoothed
grasping of fins and flesh.

Is it the careless joy of launching
with a fall into the shock of cold,
green water? Or wanting to hold on
too long with a limp, still death
or the half effort, letting this fish slip,
to lie on the water slick deck gasping
while I dodge and reach, nervously
laughing, at the flailing body.

My stepfather's voice is strong enough
to guide me to my knees at the end
of the dock, in a cautious, strained
lowering. Head first, then body into inches
of green lake water, where the fish stays still,
stunned, he says, until I open my hands,
feel the familiar, sad regret and let go.