Sue Bust

Catching fish is not always easy.
A fisherman treading on pebbles.
There has to be something on the table.
Someone’s hunger has to go.
Epiphanie Mukasano

Fishing

At the edge of the pool I
lie watching, watching, meditating.
Clouds blown along, changing shape.
Sleep a warm sun sleep,
a cool earth sleep.
Wake groggy and hungry.
Will catch fish.
Catching fish is not always easy.

What will attract fish? Worms?
Dig, scrape, hard rich soil
into my nails.
Push worms onto spear. Wince.
Wade on pebbles into clear water.
Too slow.
Another earthworm, another try,
a fisherman treading on pebbles.

Fingers muddy, bloody,
eyes fuzzy,
dizzy with hunger, exhausted.
Lift spear for kill.
Fish get away again, again.
Blood in water from worms, fish, me.
There has to be something on the table.

Thrust. Thrust again.
I get one – speared,
squirming, wriggling, impaled.
Sushi? No.
Sun through glass.
Rainbow surrounded pin-light.
Smoke. Fire.
Someone’s hunger has to go.

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