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Read more poems by Ron Rash: Ron Rash Poems at Poetry X.

Three days searchers worked below
rock-leaps her feet had not bridged,
men trolling grabbling hooks through
suck hole and blue hole, bamboo
poles jabbing the backs of falls
before the high sheriff told
her folks there was but one way,
so Jake Poston came, his poke
bulging with a snapper's weight,
its head a jawed fist, mossed shell
big as a washpan, fishhook
deep-barbed in the webbed back foot,
the shank's eye knotted with line
thick as guitar string. He kicked
it off the bank, let out line
like a leash as the snapper
wandered river floor, then stopped,
and Jake just nodded, the men
wading on in. No one spoke
of the gashes in her throat,
or of why he hadn't cut
that line afterward, had slung
thirty pounds of turtle on
his back, headed downriver
to the cabin where no wife
set his table, where no meat
yet simmered in the kettle.

Added: 6 Oct 2002 | Last Read: 13 Feb 2012 5:35 AM | Viewed: 2502 times

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