What we came for, and what arrives. <br /> <br />My grandson and I walk out the pier <br />all the way to the lighthouse, <br />carrying our fishing poles and gear <br />navigating the huge boulders <br />that dropp off into a deep lake. <br />If he falls in, I will follow <br />unable to live with his loss. <br /> <br />I bring a bucket of shiners <br />that we will put back into the lake <br />two by two, hoping against wind <br />to draw out a perch or bass, <br />perhaps a great walleye <br />to celebrate the day together <br />in the sun and wind. <br /> <br />The steady hoot of the lighthouse, <br />the waves washing up on the rocks, <br />the old guy who shows him <br />how to bring it in without a snag. <br />We calculate then cast out, <br />letting go the line, learning to <br />sit and wait again and again. <br /> <br />What we came for, and what arrives. <br /> <br /> <br />(for Adam)<br /><br />Larry Smith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fishing-the-lake/
