The Three Pufferfish on Islas de Gigantes

a poem by Roger B Rueda

They move through seawater like dry leaves,

their mouths supping the sharpness

of water on rocks, their fins

so dusky grey.

I kneel and scoop one after another

into my palms.

They puff out their fat middle

and let out a lungful

of cool breath,

grey balloons come out in the twinkling  of an eye.

I think of phobias

as I am shivering with fear.

I take them to a small plastic bottle

whose water I’ve poured out

and filled with seawater.

The fish swim in as if they bolted;

the three seem talking about the strangeness

and overpowering force –

or perhaps their shared mindfulness

and terror

are held by their muteness.

Our boat goes to another island.

The fish move their body

through the water in the bottle,

gulping air into their gills.

I am praying in my mind

the fish stay alive.

I am deeply nervous that the fish

die once we come to the island –

the fish look particularly frail.

I keep an eye on them tensely.

Finally, our boat moors on the island.

I go down and let out the fish,

the morning very radiant

and the water warm and pellucid.

In silence, the three fish swim their life

to a new abode, wrenching my imagination

to the force of the unfamiliar, of the arcane.