A boys memory

A Boys Memory 

Jackson Lake, as a name, makes no pretense of poetry. 

Choke Cherry Canyon, but miles from the lake, 

Comes off tart and strong but evokes bleak memory in the boy 

Belying its name. 

 

The man, now an elder, remembers the lake and the silver rainbows 

That leapt out the water and dared the father on the shore 

To flick his wrist and send the hammered gold and red lure 

Sailing through the shimmering heat: reel clicking, line whirring, 

Buzzing beyond the bright dancer. 

 

After the silver rings had spread concentric, consistent to every shore 

And all was still; the lure began its liquid trek toward the pole of its origin; 

Like bamboo  bending, pulled by brown arms this way, then that,  

Leaping in beauty. 

 

Father taught son to gently scrape a   shallow bowl in the sand; 

Taught the boy to make a fire from pinon, smoky and fragrant, 

Which burned till red eyes glowed beneath bushy ash brows then placed the fish in the shining pan. 

 

What a meal it was! White-bellied rainbow, pink and gray. 

dusted in cornmeal, like pollen; 

New potatoes and red onions forming a garland around her, 

Sizzling on a transparent sheen of oil:  

a perfect sacrifice to boyhood. 

 

These moments hide the truth but do not lie;  

Hide the sullen glare, 

Hide the  truth of folly. 

No one can relive the past but in the imagination. 

Leaving only the memory of the three-tiered tackle box  

Sitting alone in the parking lot 

As father and now his sons drive away.