We paddled the boat through dark water, fish bloomed up around us in eddies, circling in whirlpools our modest vessel. We cast out lines with baited hooks waiting, spread out small nets, reeling in the sharp cold bodies which sometimes slipped through my fingers before I could look at them and wonder what swaying fans and grasses they saw at the bottom of the black caldera lake. My brother taught me how to hack off the heads, pulling the skeleton out of its meat and skin cushion. He taught me these things, but he did not teach me how to swim when the boat tips, how to pull out a hook from my palm.

VIRGINIA DARE COX resides in Fredericksburg, Virginia where she works as literary editor for Whurk Magazine. She has recently received her BA from the University of Mary Washington.