Tuesday, December 27, 2016

Fisher Man - Day 25 - Sara Dowse

Now that I’m alone
I’m looking inward more
dragging up memories,
each shining moment,
one at a time,  
by their wriggling tails.

Water, the boardwalk shaman said
reading the rivers on my hand
and six months later
there he was,
my fisher man,
just as the shaman said.

He taught me to fish
my fisher man
showed me how to cast,
and where in the river
to plunge my line
my eye on the rings
where the mayflies danced.

I caught one once
and what a surprise:
a trout from a pond
where nobody else
had landed one,
how tough it was, tugging the line,
a joyful singing on the reel.

I used to be afraid of fish,
didn’t like their mouths,
how they turned down,
the way they seemed
to grimace at me.
They’re grinning now instead.


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