Meditation at Fishtown

Abstract

Meditation at Fishtown Molly Spencer (bio) —Leland, Michigan If I said blue. If I said scuffed slatecut across by blade after blade of rough sunlight. If the wind were relentless. If a father stood amid the thicket of docks clutching shore,all the gray bones of planking, and a girl stood with him,watching the constellar shine of lines unspoolingas the town kids fish from the pier. If a hookfrom a failed cast catches his lip, then a low Hold on! from his throat, flashof one hand to grab the line, glintof his quick knife to cut it. If the barb sinks deep. If the rose-trail of blooddown his chin is another river you can't forget, you may never know if the thick, green smell of depths here means birthor come-what-may. [End Page 88] If the boats come in laden—whitefish, lake trout, some still flicking their tails. If a father has cut himself free. If the boats here are named—hand-painted, block letters—named GLORIA, named JOY. [End Page 89] Molly Spencer Molly Spencer's recent poetry has appeared in Copper Nickel, FIELD, Georgia Review, Gettysburg Review, New England Review, and Ploughshares; her critical writing has appeared at Colorado Review, Kenyon Review Online, and The Rumpus. She holds an MFA from the Rainier Writing Workshop and is Poetry Editor at The Rumpus. Copyright © 2019 Pleiades and Pleiades Press