I am squatting on the riverbank, watching
you fish for rainbow trout. Six years old.
Handling the line like a violinist, you pluck
away with each vibration, picturing the surface
of the water as a composition unraveling
each note and quaver. Your daughters
are downstream, catching minnows in jam
jars. Shrinking like Hughes’ pike, soon
they will be part of the river while you
are lost amongst the grasses, feeling
the riverbed for signs of a sure footing
even though it’s 2021 and Dordogne
has been reduced to something that slips
out while trying to remember a familiar
tune to distract from the shaking teacup
and spilt sugar.
Previously published in Wilda Morris’ Poetry Challenge
Christian Ward is a UK-based writer who can be currently found in Wild Greens, Cold Moon Review, Discretionary Love and Chantarelle's Notebook. Future poems will be appearing in Dreich, Uppagus, Impspired and Spry.