“Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in.”
~ Henry David Thoreau
If I could ask the writer one thing
it would be this: what bait did you use?
Was it a simple hook and worm
impaled with your usual deliberation?
Or was it a fly made from a feather
plucked with due reverence
from the wing of a dead neighbor?
Perhaps you preferred a bait more primitive,
crouching like a raccoon next to the stream,
attracting fish to your hand through sheer will.
For sure you would not have used
one of those shiny metal baubles
favored by today’s fishing dabblers.
No, yours was the direct approach.
I see you not waiting timidly as the stream
passes by, but diving deep beneath
its rippled surface, meeting the fish head on.
First published by Poetry Quarterly summer 2015 http://poetryquarterly.com/poetry-quarterly-issue-22/