The day I turned 23
a few weeks before our wedding day,
I caught my first striped bass,
hefted its weight, rainbow hide pressed
against my thighs. Nine, ten pounds, a guess
before we put it back, face first,
into the dark Long Island water.
Bass brought five bucks a pound
that fall, and we were famishing
for everything that makes a life.
The floor, hard that night as ever,
supported us while we swam in our sleep.
