Far From Any Ocean
Come with me and I will make you
fishers of men. Something I would want to be.
Collect people and hang them
from a stringer, from the back of my boat.
I used to stand in a lake up north,
with my lover hugged up behind
teaching me to cast a fly.
Thick yellow line sings through the air,
light tippet touches down.
Below the surface,
walleye, trout, bass, large and small mouth,
look up through the waters.
I collect green bottle glass from along
shores of great lakes to look back at them.
by Lisa J. Cihlar
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Categories: Water
I haven’t been fly-fishing for so long that I may have lost that talent for letting thick string fly, and then teasing it back across the surface … waiting for the strike. Most likely I’d not catch a single fish …
but I’ve never lost my love of lakes and the small treasures found at their edges …
Thanks for always improving my day.
scruffy
Lisa-
I love the way you open up with this poem, collecting people from a stringer and hanging them from the back of your boat, what a terrific image! This is a truely beautiful poem. The finishing lines are galumptious! Bravo!! Well done my friend, well done.
What a nice memory poem. Reminds me of days gone fishing and camping in the Boundry Waters in Minnesota.
Thanks
Barbara Cihlar
The images and feelings are so vivid. I’m headed up to the lakes soon on a trip, but you sent me there early. I love your poem, Lisa!
What a lovely comment on memory! Your images come alive like a recalled memory does in one’s mind…
Thanks for the startling image of people strung like fish on a line – altho it’s on the disturbing side, too. Not soon forgotten. Also for evoking my own memories of learning to fly fish with my Dad in Montana’s Gallatin River, far from any ocean.
Thanks to everyone for your kind and wonderful comments.
The imagery and scriptural allusion really grabbed me with this one.
Nicely done.
Linda N.