The Fish in the River

I think I have a problem understanding time.

Just like my grandfather.

I slip

into the past

and don’t know why.

Old Man says it’s because sometimes

I just have my head up my ass and he’ll say,

how is the view

up there

today?

But that’s just because

he thinks it’s a bad thing

to spend too much time

in the past.

Anybody’s personal past

unless you can go way

way back to the old days

when it was always quiet

in the woods

and you could just reach into any stream

and lift out

a

big fish

to cook for dinner.

I have a hard time

hanging on to the present.

The present is like that big fish and I am trying to hold onto it

so I can

cook it for dinner.

But it keeps jumping back into the river

and swimming away

upstream (into the past)

or downstream (into the future).

It’s been a very long while

since my father went to the river

and caught a real fish

and my mother cooked it

and we ate it

with my cousins.

That’s some fish,

my mother kept saying.

And my father kept saying, It was like

that fish

wanted me to

catch him

and feed him to my family.

But my father left the next day

to go look for work on the oil rigs out West.

And I felt bad

because I didn’t eat all my fish,

didn’t like all the bones.

But I should have saved those bones

to remember my father by.

Even

fish bones

should not

be wasted.