ice-fishing.

arching water-grass, one of the chain lakes, n. of athabasca, dec.07

ice-fishers in the distance, also one of the chain lakes, n. of athabasca, dec.07

poem-draft. this poem & i need some space right now.

ice-fishing.

out on the frozen lake i watch you drop
a line down through a hole in the ice; we might
sit in silence for hours here, you & i, willing

the shadowy thoughts of fishes to notice this,
for one to sacrifice itself for sustenance – &
then the twitching of the thread, a northern pike
comes flailing to the surface –

i watch you now, bite my lip. unconscious echo
of the fish’s bleeding cheek, metallic taste of smoky air,
red willows bending, that red stain spreading in the snow –

& i can’t watch as you crack the skull on the frozen board,
thinking of the pooling in the spine, the delicacy of bones
splintering, icicles reverberating, falling off the house --

little prayer under my breath, & back to fishing.
you shuffle around, pain following in your
shaky footprints. snowbacked sedge-grass arching down
on the shores, rushes heaving under hoarfrost,

straining your back as you hunch over
that hole in the ice. & i know your ribs, your shins
are aching in this cold but you won’t say anything,
not even when its chilly hooks creep further in

& finally confront you, pull you up
from your watery black cocoon gasping
& thrashing like a pike on the ice –

oh, but pike, they’re the toughest fish, you’d say,
they’ll survive hours out of water, calmly flaring
the bloody rose-petals of their gills

& maybe they aren’t even afraid -- but
i watch you staring out over the lake, at the sky
frozen over with luminous white ice-floe clouds

& i am stricken by the cold rays on your face, do
you see it? that shimmering, dangling line, &
how your bright eyes are so hungry, so tired,
so old.