From one side of the boat
\nto the other,
\nwe fished.
\nOne spot
\ntwo feet away
\nis better than mine.
\nMy brother traded his place
\nwith my father,
\ncatching fish
\nin the shadow of the prow.
\nI preferred the twinkle of sun
\noff starboard,
\nnear the wheel.
\nEach place was better
\nthan the other.
\nSo we moved,
\ntraded,
\ndisputed the merits
\nof our places.<\/p>\n
While the boat drifted
\nmy mother ate a sandwich.
\nFished from the only spot
\nnone of us wanted,
\nin the middle.
\nWe baited her hook,
\nshe looked off, maybe at the Antilles,
\nwe could not tell.
\nHer eyes were hidden under
\nher hat.
\nPerhaps she was playing a game
\nwith her sisters,
\nremembering our brother,
\nkilled in the war.<\/p>\n
Did it matter where we prayed,
\nwhere we leave initials?
\nWhy one moment has more meaning
\nthan another?
\nWhat our choices are?
\nWhy did the fish bite my bait
\nand not my father\u2019s?
\nWhat is the random sound
\nof the storm asking?
\nHow\u2019s the fishing?
\nWhat bait are you using?
\nIs the place at the front better
\nthan the rear?
\nWill we have an answer
\nwhen the buckets fall?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
From one side of the boat to the other, we fished. One spot two feet away is better than mine. My brother traded his place…<\/p>\n