Poetry - Issue 15 | June 2012

Paengaroa Skype-fishing

by Mary


Paengaroa Skype-fishing

I’m pressing t-shirts: black, worn to grey,
smoothing suspense till your voice-call. My eyes
drift into a leaden middle-distance.

The Philips Super-Glide sputters steam
until a signal comes, crackling. Listen,
air stills: Can you hear it? My headset fills

with rushing spume and wash of wave-roll,
I’m fishing. Complete darkness, six pm.
I see what you see: pewter, slate, steel,

feel the line pull, willing to reel in, while
our eyes probe dye-fast cotton, bat-blind sea;
then curses fly as your tackle tangles.

You hang up. I strain to summon fish, crabs,
from the depths of jet fabric. A smooth iron mist
dampens the air. Tides run, night deepens

on your side of the world. As you pack up
rod and bucket, I greet the west-bound sunlight:
a sacrament, ready blessed by your eyes.


About the author

Mary Scheurer was born in Manchester, but now lives in France and teaches just across the border in Switzerland, where she loves to travel by steamboat on the lakes, by train through the mountains, or on foot as long as the land is flat. She also enjoys snowshoe treks especially if there’s a fondue at the end of the day. Her work has been published in the anthologies, Did I Tell You?, Not only the Dark, Offshoots 10 and The Geneva Times, and you can find her work on the Leman Poets website.

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