by Ryan McDonald
I rest all my faith
in the reeking reservoir
I’ve always called a lake.
Far away enough to feel that
this place came with danger, but
close enough to home to not worry
my parents’ preoccupied minds.
I hold onto the fishing line and
cast in by the sunfish’s nest.
Twenty-seven fishes caught from
yellow sun past orange sunset,
maybe two more but not one less.
I fight using a stick as a sword,
losing duel after duel on that shore,
against big brother except for that
one special day I won for a change.
I keep trying despite the blisters from
paddling a canoe stuck in shallow water
and mud, having made it across
the whole lake with the other side waiting
to be conquered and named.
I rest my faith.
I close my eyes to sit
on the fallen tree with my feet
dangling above the murky water.
Ryan McDonald can be contacted at [email protected]
