was certainly not to hook
a fish, or stain my fingers
with the reek of salmon eggs
but to fling a line on the water
and hope to catch more phrases,
and sink in their boisterous laughter
my father in his fishing fedora
alongside his older brother Carlos
shouting in a jargon that silenced
even the waves of the mighty river
near Ceiba—their colorful
words lobbed like their lines, los sendales,
a jumble of confusion in a banter
only siblings could understand—
perhaps like the fish they hooked
and tossed back into the river that roared
under a decaying cement bridge
Pa’ la mierda, esto no sirve.
no fish was ever good enough to keep,
not for the quarrelsome brothers
who stood as obsolete as the dilapidated bridge
with a girl in tow, a girl who knew, even then,
that to hold a fishing rod tightly
was to catch their words not fish
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 26, Issue 3.
Amelia Díaz Ettinger is a BIPOC poet and writer, she has three full-length poetry books and two poetry chapbooks. Her poetry and short stories have appeared in literary journals and anthologies. She has an MFA in creative writing from Eastern Oregon University. Presently, she and her partner reside in Summerville, Oregon with two dogs, one cat, and way too many chickens.
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