Turn

Dad, I didn't care that the waves brought no grunion.
I was happy anyway beside you in the dark,
brave enough not to hold your hand.
Remember we ran with the current, hoping to find
the fish slicing their eggs into the sand.
I would probably not remember the longhaired stranger
who handed me a fish
if after he ran to the next wave,
you had not turned toward the parking lot and said,
"Some hippy gave you your first fish.
I should’ve been the one. Dirty hippies."
For a moment, I hung back in the waves,
the fish heavy with the dark you’d covered it with.
I’ve been devouring that stranger’s fish all this time,
pulling back first from you whenever we hug.