Fishing My Way
by Nancy Shires

Bait a hook,
toss it in.
Now watch
how sunset pinks
the water,
streaks violet and fire
above tree line
and below;
how the iridescent
wood duck calls
his clear whoo-eek
like a frantic hinge;
how just across
the cut, in poplars
laced with vines,
a tribe of nimble-
fingered, masked
raccoons stuff themselves
on grapes gone ripe.
When you reel
your hook back in,
it might fetch
a bottom-feeding catfish
or not.

Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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