Little Jack sat in that happy little green boat
And stared into the murky water—
Cane pole in hand,
And dear Granddaddy
In the seat behind me—
And I fixated,
As he had told me to,
On that orange foam bobber
Floating half out of the water.
And I silently reminded myself that it does
Sometimes plunge,
And that I should be ever at the ready.
And however many centuries I sat watching,
I could not tell you.
But I would not forget in
A thousand centuries
The thrill of those moments
In which it sank
And I pulled
And experienced the always-startling reality
That something yet unseen was indeed
Pulling back—
Ghost that it was in the deep.
And it was there—
Even if I couldn’t see it—
Tugging away at me
In undeniable pulses,
Until finally it emerged
And the eyes could tell me
All over again
What my heart already knew.
And when the fishing was done
And the day exhausted,
I’d climb aboard that welcoming bed
And slip out into that lovely river of sleep—
Its dark waters so like
What I had watched all day long—
And at length, I would see
That same tall orange bobber
Floating half out of the dreamy black.
And it would sink!
And I would wake myself
With the same startled
Jerk of the arms
That I had experienced
So many times
On that glorious day
In that glorious little green boat.
And it’s sad to say it,
But Granddaddy is gone now.
Yet still I remember.
And still I can feel the tug
As deep calls to deep.
And still,
It amazes me
That something is there.
—
