Grandfather's Boat
His rowing boat anchors at the edge of a sandbar,
lifts as grandfather lifted the anchor, the day
the sun struck his life, the day his heart gave way.
His boat still arching and rolling with the tide.
Oars empty of hands. His vessel waiting silently
for a figure on the bow, throwing bait, berley
and line into Booker Bay. Other boats tell
tales of their keen fishing life. Old fishermen
cast in these waters, arriving in knee-high boots,
large gentle hands holding on to a wooden rudder,
the pull of oars, or engine's throttle. Men steering
the channel as my grandfather's life steered away
to another shore, leaving his new purchase in the bay
lisping at the edge of the sandbar, blip, blip, blip.
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