Found artifacts. Found art. Found stories. Found poetry… Art from artifacts, I pledge again and again. Glen sent me this photo earlier today. He came across it snagged on the dock, revealed by the ever so slowly receding water, still about 2 feet higher than historic mean.
I immediately abandoned the blog post I was drafting for today. Best laid plans. Another important progress report. A timely update. Stay on task. Stay focused. Manage the workflow.
When this snapshot arrived, my heart fluttered. My adrenaline piqued. I considered the person who lost it. Fishing late season, snagging the dock, trying to free the lure, snapping the fishing line, and feeling a pang of loss as s/he conceded the lost lure.
I’ve been in this position of loss.
I’ve also been in the position of finding a lost lure.
What a difference.
A Lure Allure
Snagged on the lower dock
concealed by high water
unseasonably, unreasonably
swollen for late autumn,
snagged and unfreeable
despite the pole’s arcing dance,
despite changing angles,
tugging, jerking, and
finally snapping the line.
A rush of resentment
and the ache of loss
replaced by a memory,
a parade of memories,
snapshots decades old
of fishing tackle found
on a line wrapped dock cleat,
tangled in seaweed
on a debris strewn beach,
hanging from a branch,
wind blown dangling
from the mooring painter.
This poem remains prematurely abbreviated. I’ll fall asleep this evening trying to figure out how it ends. What’s missing? I know the feeling. I lack the words. With luck it will have evolved by the time you come across it.
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