The ones that grow large and thrive,
the ones that have once tasted the hook,
the mouth-scarred ones, do not linger
in unclouded waters. They have learned
to live in deeper pools,
water cold as knives, weedy
with dark food, murky
amniotic fluid—

Wise fish, with gills
that open like wounds,
passing the tragic waters
through their bodies,
turning grief to oxygen.

Sheryl St. Germain
from her book Let It Be a Dark Roux
Autumn House Press, 2007

Used with permission of the poet.