Wellesley ripples out from Longfellow Pond.
I’ve grown up knowing
that should I ever raise children
they would know a certain permanence
here. It is the inverse of downtown,
the living is done.
Tonight I am fishing
from the lawn of a girl I don’t think about
except when I’m with her
and then I can’t stop.
My line reaches 200 feet
through the woods
and crashes like a needle
into the water. Two nights ago
I brought her a cod the size of my palm
and when she answered the door,
I hid behind the fence, just threw
the fish to her doorstep.
She stared into the night
across the street,
closed her front door,
and I recaptured the little creature.
Now like a handshake, a kiss
she didn’t know she’d been given.