Wind troubles the surface of the pond.
A station of reeds on the opposite shore
gathering the dark in their blades. I breathe
into the vessel of my hands. Keep an eye
on the silver bobber. Wait for the contractions
of the line. How old am I in this dreaming?
Perhaps it’s my father huddled at the bank’s edge—
not me—his hands gripping the casting rod,
crouched under the trees’ strict awning. Perhaps
it’s the winter of 1933—prewar—my father
a boy still, a fleet of crows flooding the oaks
above the mere as he waits in that slow dark
for the carp to hook, night, line, all of it
unraveling beneath the moon’s splintered marquee.
–
Adam Chiles is the author of Bluff (Measure Press, Spring 2023). His work has appeared in numerous journals, including Copper Nickel, Gulf Coast, Indiana Review, The Literary Review, and The Threepenny Review. Chiles is a professor of English and creative writing at Northern Virginia Community College and serves on the editorial board at Poet Lore.