Sunday, May 18, 2014

As If You Never Fished

As If You Never Fished

My initial fascination may have had to do with the fact that you were fishing.
And alone. I was not even sure that any female ever fished, unaccompanied.
Crouching in the honeysuckle two minutes without breath, you caught one.
It flapped on the bank. And you, seemingly horrified with this, I emerged.

In retrospect, I wish I had arrived on the scene while you were yet casting.
As it was, I came forth to offer my services in the matter of hook removal.
Your eyes told me that before snagging a lip, you did not envision success.
No idea that every fish fried and eaten, is also one removed from it's safety.

Amazing how, before we knew each other's names, you stripped me naked.
Me, equally violent. The gasping gills at our side, nearing the river's edge.
No words spoken. Fishlike. Captured. Perhaps -- we would never eat again.
Quarry flapping twice, toward the water. Re-entering. As if you never fished. 

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2014 --

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