Carl Newlen

Fishing the Ohio

- July 10, 2009, 3:02 pm | Poetry

---

It`s October, and I sit on the edge
where the Ohio rubs the rocky shore.
When you fish here they say the bait
doesn`t matter; the fish eat anything.
You should never eat the fish.

Uncle Junior would say that.
Near the Cumberland Locks
we`d fish for hours from a damp slab
of sandstone. Still I can feel
the curling fight of the worms
between my fingers, the way
they whitened in cool river water,
the reds and yellows of big-eyed lures
lying in neat rows inside his tackle box.
We leaned against a canvas bag
watching for the bend of our poles pointing
outward, their reflections crooked
in the green silkiness of the sour river.

He taught me a good knot, twisting
the line seven times before looping
the end through. He said look behind
before casting. Reel in slowly,
more slowly when the water is cold.
Never throw rocks into the water.
These are the rules of fishing.

The fish aren`t biting today.
I cast out, dragging my bait
to tangle on a piece of gray
driftwood for the pleasure
of the pull on the line.

---

Keywords:

---

Add to del.icio.us | Digg

Recently Added:

1. Eat Your Spaghetti - Raising Children
2. I Buried My Wife - New Poems
3. Country Cat - Children`s Story
4. New Story - Notes To Read While Falling
5. Footnotes - Notes To Read While Falling

Copyright © 1992-2010 Carl Newlen, All Rights Reserved