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.