Gone Fishin’
The line of lifeless pumpkinseeds
stretches between us. My arm reaches up
to hold my end. Yours reaches down.
You
twice as tall, pole in hand
the mascot on your high school sweatshirt
stained with fish guts,
look dead-on at the camera.
Me
high-water pants hover above socks,
slouch hat two sizes too big
(Was it yours?)
head cocked, chin dips coyly
toward the camera.
Today I am your equal–-
not the tagalong kid sister
twelve years your junior.
After all
I’m the one
who dug the worms.
A retired journalist, Marianne Gambaro is a poet and cat enrichment volunteer who lives in Western Massachusetts. Her poems and essays have been published in numerous journals. She is the author of Do NOT Stop for Hitchhikers. https://margampoetry.wordpress.com/
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Stone Poetry Quarterly 