This post was originally written and published at rockchrysler.com in July 2013.What follows is a true tale, or at least as true a tale as I am able to tell of it these days, so many years later, about a trip I took to the Galapagos Islands with my grandparents when I was 10 years old in 1977. It is a tale based, at least in terms of its sequence and style, on this poem which I wrote for Beckian Goldberg's ENG 200-something Introduction to Creative Writing poetry workshop as a sophomore at Arizona State University in 1987.
The photos below are also mine, taken by ten-year-old me with my prized Kodak Instamatic camera.
"Yes, the night monster will settle there and will find herself a resting place."
The photos below are also mine, taken by ten-year-old me with my prized Kodak Instamatic camera.
"Yes, the night monster will settle there and will find herself a resting place."
Isaiah 34:14b
Santa Fe Island, Galápagos
27 October 1977
It was a sharp knife, much sharper than most ten-year-old boys would tyically be allowed to possess.
And it was the right knife, too, its stainless three-inch-long blade and array of Swiss-army implements perfect for carrying confidently in one's front pocket all day long, especially on a grand, far-away excursion such as this.
The fish, lying on its side on the deck, a large trolling-hook pinned in its lower jaw, also gauged the sharpness of the boy's knife; its wide, unblinking eyes betrayed its awareness, as it gaped and gasped in desperate need of oxygen. It needed to die, wanted to now.
"Kill me," the fish told him.
Santa Fe Island, Galápagos
27 October 1977
It was a sharp knife, much sharper than most ten-year-old boys would tyically be allowed to possess.
And it was the right knife, too, its stainless three-inch-long blade and array of Swiss-army implements perfect for carrying confidently in one's front pocket all day long, especially on a grand, far-away excursion such as this.
The fish, lying on its side on the deck, a large trolling-hook pinned in its lower jaw, also gauged the sharpness of the boy's knife; its wide, unblinking eyes betrayed its awareness, as it gaped and gasped in desperate need of oxygen. It needed to die, wanted to now.
"Kill me," the fish told him.
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