For my father

North Woods

The walls of this fishing camp
are filled with dust and so damp
spots of wood rot, and smell of mold.
It's raining; the whiskey is almost gone;
we sit and talk, and listen...

The wind in these north woods divides our souls
between what we wanted -- ambrosia like dew,
the fairy princess, the golden apples --
and what is -- the trees, the rain,
my father and me going fishing
for the splinters of bliss we pull from life.
I've been lucky, he says.
We are lucky.

We say luck a little out of fear
from swings swung to nooses
like love to loathing,
like drink to drunk.

But we are drunk in luck;
luck is the rain, the trees,
the fish that rolls above the water's surface
on the last cast.

                                                             MCQ
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4 comments

  1. Fabulous. I LOVE the line “the splinters of bliss we pull from life”. Well done!

  2. john c. quigg · · Reply

    I remember this piece. I have it among other things you’ve written; I’ve saved. It’s good. Thanks.

  3. Epicuranoid · · Reply

    Thanks both! Seemed appropriate for father’s day.

  4. You could certainly see your enthusiasm in the work you write. The world hopes for more passionate writers like you who aren’t afraid to say how they believe. Always go after your heart.

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