~

the smell of timbers,
aging in the sun and daily misting;
neath the shuffling sound,
footsteps of a man,
bucket filled with daily catchings,
the reeling in of memory’s castings,
of creosote's faint lifting,
drifting on the breezes;
of old tackle boxes,
of shrimp and lures;
the gatherings of hands,
ragged and weathered,
the collecting of years;
of hand-me-down hooks,
bobbers and sinkers,
the odd bits of dust,
gathered in corners,
pliers worn by use and rust,
save from drownings
grateful rainbows
one by one,
their too-short lives
extended with each
catch and release.

tired ropes wrapped
’round bent iron ties,
summer-time-baked...
cracked and dried,
by day's too old to count,
the numbers, the flutters,
since this heart began its bleeding,
it's journey beating,
floats of faded red and blue,
recall of a yesteryear
of a grandfather renewed;
the one-time, one-day
he and i walked
hand-in-hand
down a dusty road
to an old, wood fishing dock
on a grassy river bank;
dock and day long gone,
but love-scribed now,
deeply in this memory.
a day with rod and reel
when on a river long ago
a boy and a man,
an afternoon of fishing
to his heart listening.
a wistful day
of boyhood’s dreams
now in wishful haze;
forgotten midst
the growing years,
tumbling out in verse,
those smells, the sounds,
now reel out words
between the tears,
now catch-releasing,
a heart's docking...
and memory’s rebirth.

~

*post script.

funny, this memory thing... how we can be so not conscious of what lies ’neath its surface, but then is reclaimed in vivid, YouTube vision by the smallest sight, sound, or smell.  with a childhood spent 8,000 miles and an ocean away from my home country, i have scarce few memories of my grandfather.  today i am grateful to reclaim this one, a tearfully joyous recall of a six-year old's wonder-filled afternoon,
caught and released so long ago.

You come down some backroad
And you'll hear some big 'ole diesel trucks
Gravel flying everywhere
The Girl's hairs whipping in the wind
Mud all over the teenagers
A beer in hand
You come down on a ranch
And you'll hear some shotguns
Bullets flying everywhere
The grow men grunting and stalking
Deer antlers for the walls
A beer in hand
You come down on a farm
You'll see Old McDonalds
And you'll hear the animals everywhere
The family out on their trail
Screaming "Yee-Haw"
A beer in hand
You come on down to the lake
You'll see families fishing
You'll hear the bobbers hitting the water
A beer in hand
You come on down to camp
You'll see men living off the land
You'll hear laughter everywhere
A Bon fire going, bringing out the s'mores
Someone with a guitar singing to George Strait
A beer in hand.