They walked down the beach toward the wide sea together,
my two teenage boys.
Getting smaller with the distance until, at the water’s
lapping edge, they looked,
dipping their toes in, once again
like little boys.
They waded out slowly, laughing at
the cold, breaking waves.
Then raised their long, sunstruck arms and
dove underwater.
I couldn’t see them for a while.
The ocean was blank.
But I didn’t worry—despite the undertow—
that they were swimming alone,
and sure enough, they broke surface, laughing again, not even
checking back with me.
Which swept me
into a knee-buckling
undertow
of my own.
*
I’m stuck! I hear one cry from the distant past.
I lost my bob! declares the other.
He crossed my line! objects one while the other confides,
I think my worm got drowned.
Cartoon fishing, I called it then, reporting the catch-free day to my wife.
Though as I store away our boys’ old, small, rusty fishing poles—
the saddest of Bach on the radio—
they’ve caught something now.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 25, Issue 3.
Mark Belair’s poems have appeared in numerous journals, including Alabama Literary Review, Euphony Journal, Harvard Review, and Michigan Quarterly Review. Author of seven collections of poems, his most recent book is Stonehaven, a work of fiction (Turning Point Books, 2020). Its sequel, Edgewood, will be published by Turning Point in the fall. He has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize multiple times, as well as for a Best of the Net Award. Please visit www.markbelair.com
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