Stick String and Safety Pin Years
by Odin Roark

It was a very good year,
At the time.

Barely fourteen,
I rushed after class,
My job awaited.
Nickel a hook,
My independence,
Attaching the fly,
Wrapping the cinch neck,
Knotting the hold,
Gaze held at close attention,
Learning barbs have little patience.

Line up their curvatures,
Package them neat,
Respect their dignity,
No gloves,
Bare skin risking,
Gambler in training,
Learning rudiments,
Boss man said.

They’ve but one purpose;
They fulfill without question.
Willing once,
Willing twice,
Ready to arc for that next chance,
Keen to challenge depths of tenacity.

Touch down,
Skitter not,
Ballet the bob and weave,
Hold tight the cat gut line,
Temp the temptress,
Swim the course.

First lessons learned.

School completed,
The call of the wild,
Gone the wrist and finger finesse,
Gone the whip and place,
K to twelve’s grace and modesty,
Now history.

Cast adrift…

I lowered myself
Into the chasms deep,
Monster fish to bait,
Darkest hole,
Biggest catch.

Hooks in my eyes,
Hooks in my smile,
Hooks with my handshake,
Slips,
Rips,
Trips later,
Harpooned a mermaid.

Yet…

Quiet waters raged,
Barbed kisses snarled my tether,
Dragged me mercilessly deep,
Held me tight,
Dragged my naive cautions to the bottom,
Held me tight,
Rapped,
Tangled,
Hooked me to the dark,
Anchored my ignorance to drown.

Then…

Not-so-very-good-years later,
Much later,
Consciousness returned,
Light pierced the fathoms dark,
Early lessons whispered again.

Nothing takes its place,
Those fly-hook lures after school,
Where blackboard logic,
Ceased to be.
Fishin’ hole wisdom
Came front and center,
Eager to tell me
Hooks grow larger,
Fear graduates into rapids,
To rip and tear,
Until lesson learned.

Before suffering’s hook
Baits its limit,
Read the sign,
Beware the mermaids.

If you’re lucky,
Those ancient lessons,
Your own kind of stick,
String,
And safety pin years,
Become valued life preservers,

Again.