Hook, Line and Sinker

Prose Poetry

Out back in the woods, Catasauqua creek sleeps
until the turbulence from the motor boats
foam into shampoo hitting against the rocks.

Rebecca and I stand ready on our first mother
daughter fishing excursion. She pulls back
the pole as it swings forward landing on the
water. She is sure that her novice skills
will hook a catfish.

Five minutes or less she reels in the line
her worms missing but not from the bite,
the motion of the swing sent the worms
flying across to an unknown destination.

Four lads on a fishing boat pine for the
girl with Rappunzel hair, moving closer in
to catch a glimpse of her face; and perhaps
her willow frame.

This repetitious practice of hook, line
and sinker went on for an hour or so. In
the mean time I amuse myself by watching,
ultramarine butterflies reel around to
land on honeysuckle plants.

The aroma of wild mint leaves help to relax
my tensed legs, twin number one reeled in
her line; it was of no surprise to me that
only fragments of anorexic worms remained
on the hook. Relentless Rebecca hooked
two to three at a time again repeating
the same motion.

It was her last attempt at catching fish
that Rebecca and I will remember the most.
A bit after six in the afternoon and sure
that the two foxes in the woods might
want to pay a visit was enough to call
it a day. Rebecca asked if she could
just give it one more try and I shook
my head up and down in a charade.

As the waves folio from the speeding
boats exiting the creek, she flexes
the pole as far as she could. With
her soft spoken voice turns to me
and asks "Mom, where did it go"
looking around, I spot the line
hooked above on a tree.

In duet we both went into a hysterics
of laughter. "We knew it was natures way of asking us to leave".

By. Vanessa Ramos