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