Wednesday, April 4, 2018

Since We're Sharing...

...here's another one. A bit mushy and mundane, but what the hell.



Bank-Fishing
For my grandfather

We are fishing before dawn.
My grandfather’s remaining lung
works for breath even as we sit
and watch the bright tips of plastic bobbers.
“What are your plans,” he asks
as the bobbers drift,
the spaces between his words
patient ellipses of inhalations.
But I am ten—basic and elemental,
and I cannot answer him any more
than I can understand what happens
beneath the water’s soft surface.
I know that I have not planned anything,
that I understand little more
than expectation and guilt.
Our bobbers are together in the shallow
pool between large rocks.
Waiting, my grandfather looks at me.
I want the sun to rise.
I want to step between the rocks,
then kneel there, then reach into the water

to find him an answer.