I
couldn’t tell you what it feels like
Because
it feels like nothing;
Like
a gap, a dip, a cavern;
An
expansive hole you’d toss
Rocks
down, just to hear them fall.
But
they never really fall, rocks;
Not
in this hole. No blackout
Reminds
me of the one before,
And
the pebbles, like memory,
Are
lost each time, forever.
I
try to think back to before—
Remember
what it was like—
Mom
says we used to fish.
Together.
Can you believe that?
I
remember once standing,
Waiting
for you to come home
From
work. You passed me by
Without
a glance. I don’t remember
Fishing,
though. I don’t remember
Ever
going fishing with you.
That’s
what dads do, isn’t it?
You
take your son fishing.
You
take him to a lake or stream
Show
him to cast a line and reel
Slow,
then fast. The doctor used
An
analogy; said I should cast
Into
the pit, and try to reel memories
Close.
Like a fish. The doctor
Took
me fishing, Dad. Are you sure
You
took me with you?
I
try. I really do, Dad. Since that
First
blackout onward, I try to fake it
At
least. I half-imagine your boots
Filling
with water when you stand
In
the stream, casting line overhead.
But
there was no stream and you
Hate
fishing. You told me so yourself.
Did
I misremember this, or the other?
It’s
so hard to tell, since you left,
And
Mom is the only one who can say.
I
really wish you had stayed.
Mom
would’ve liked that so much,
Even
if we didn’t go fishing.
I’ve
been trying, Dad, to recall;
I
see denim overalls and a mountain-
Man
beard and maybe I can smell
Wood
smoke. No way to tell
If
these are real memories
Or
memories I’ve reeled
From
someone else’s stream.
The
hole is deep, Dad. It’s not
Something
I expect you to fill—
Not
that I think you could.
It’s
hard to fish with a broken son,
I
hear. I wish you had stayed, but
Since
you didn’t, I’ll just fish alone.
I
don’t expect you to return.
I’ll
cast my line in the pit to fish.
Maybe
I’ll drop a penny wish
Down
the well—if I remember.