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.