Too Much

At the beginning of time, all creatures of the deep 
were summoned to a meeting. And all came, except 

for one who claimed it did not have enough bones
in its body that would allow it to cover the great 

distance; and so all the other fish gifted it one bone
from their own bodies. When I feel I have too much, 

sometimes I remember this story about bangus:
milkfish, nawa, ikan bandung, chanos chanos— 

and how its body came to be a minefield of shafts. 
Its scientific name derives from the Greek χάνος 

which means mouth (though its mouth is small
and toothless). This is a story I was told in childhood, 

often as I nearly choked on thread-thin clumps hiding 
within mouthfuls of its tender flesh. There's a whole 

museum dedicated to bangus in a city in Taiwan, 
where schools of sculpted, gleaming milkfish float

above the staircase, held by fishing lines. Then 
as now, I want to know why it didn't or couldn't 

give back what was clearly too much; and what it learned, 
slicing through the waters with its own arsenal of barbs.