The Sand Hill Review               http://www.sandhillreview.org 2011

Father, Fishing off Greyhound Rock

Just as he reaches his arm toward the ocean

wind joins his new effort and sings out to sea.

Blocking this part of his day for good fortune,

he knows he will bring at least cod home to fry.

Daughter like father, I play by his hip boots,

pretend to cast my line beyond the rough surf.

Standing in red hat, his cigarette dangling,

he reels in thin silver and gives me my prize.

Love takes on strange shapes, I think alone later:

a dance on the feet of one larger than life.

Subsequent years he would shrink to just human,

but always that bright fish shines true in my hands.

Janice Dabney