Fishing The Lake Poem by Larry Smith

What we came for, and what arrives.

My grandson and I walk out the pier
all the way to the lighthouse,
carrying our fishing poles and gear
navigating the huge boulders
that dropp off into a deep lake.
If he falls in, I will follow
unable to live with his loss.

I bring a bucket of shiners
that we will put back into the lake
two by two, hoping against wind
to draw out a perch or bass,
perhaps a great walleye
to celebrate the day together
in the sun and wind.

The steady hoot of the lighthouse,
the waves washing up on the rocks,
the old guy who shows him
how to bring it in without a snag.
We calculate then cast out,
letting go the line, learning to
sit and wait again and again.

What we came for, and what arrives.


(for Adam)