Water Running Blue

He laughs, places the goggles over his face,

flips backwards over the side of the boat, his 

spear disappearing after him into water running blue. 

He’s done this a thousand times before. Her heart 

is warm with his laughter. She takes a breath, her 

lungs captured with the joy she feels. She finds herself 

singing as she readies the basket for his catch . 

She took courage from his experience.

It settled her fear, allowed her to relax and

discover she loved the flash of fin and scales,

the splash of silver under azure,

the quicksilver surface of

water running blue. 

She was initially worried of the sharks drawn to 

the schools. The secret is to pounce quickly, 

snatch the catch. They don’t feel a thing. He 

taught her the rhythm: he thumps the hull, she 

reaches over the side and pulls the fish from 

his spear, placing it in the basket while he goes 

down for another. 

When the fish are running he pulls the spear 

down as soon as he feels her grasp the fish. 

She has to be firm with her grip and waits 

to feel the tug as he pulls free from the catch.

They’re running today. She barely has time 

to throw the catch into the basket before he is 

thumping the hull again.

He thumps the hull, she reaches over, grabs 

the fish, feels the tug. Only when it lands in 

the basket does she see his hand, still grasping 

the spear buried deep in the fish. She looks 

over the side. Water running red.