There’s a fishing pole in the rafters
out on the front porch of this house on the river
He bought it one day, convinced it would quiet the chaos
Give him some zen
A fly rod, dancing the line out over the water
Enticing bass
He tied a few flies. I wouldn’t know
If they’re any good. But he was proud of
Those lures.
He only went a couple of times. The zen didn’t happen
The calm didn’t come
But he had one perfect day on the water
With his dad, casting the line
Casting, dancing, searching
One day is something, at least
The rod stays with the house.
It’s where it belongs. Here in this haven that was his cage
His safety net
His noose.




Filed under poetry

10 responses to “Fishing

  1. Crying now….as always, your thoughts are fascinating and meaningful and oh so poignant! Love you to pieces Terri-Lynne! Hugs and much love flying to you as you transition to your new haven!


  2. Elizabeth Young

    The cracking sound you hear is my heart breaking open.


  3. Janis Wohlschlaeger

    So beautiful Terri. Ron was blown away. He loves this!!


  4. Lise-marie

    oh, wow. Just wow. thank you for sharing


  5. Simply beautiful. ❤


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