American Life in Poetry, Column 028

by Ted Kooser, U. S. Poet Laureate

Although this poem by North Carolina native Ron Rash may seem to be just about trout fishing, it is the first of several poems Rash has written about his cousin who died years ago. Indirectly, the poet gives us clues about this loss. By the end, we see that in passing from life to death, the fish’s colors dull; so, too, may fade the memories of a cherished life long lost.

Speckled Trout

Water-flesh gleamed like mica: 
orange fins, red flankspots, a char 
shy as ginseng, found only 
in spring-flow gaps, the thin clear 
of faraway creeks no map 
could name. My cousin showed me 
those hidden places. I loved 
how we found them, the way we 
followed no trail, just stream-sound 
tangled in rhododendron, 
to where slow water opened 
a hole to slip a line in 
and lift as from a well bright 
shadows of another world, 
held in my hand, their color 
already starting to fade.

First published in “Weber Studies,” 1996, and reprinted from “Raising the Dead,” Iris Press, 2002, by permission of the author. Copyright (c) 1996 by Ron Rash, a writer and professor of Appalachian Cultural Studies at Western Carolina University, whose newest novel is “Saints at the River,” Picador Press, 2005. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska, Lincoln. This column does not accept unsolicited poetry.