i have a pond.
i forget about this fact all of the time.
it was my grandfather’s.
another cherished piece of his old italian heart that he left
to his grandchildren.
he would take us,
teach us how to stand
and whip our tiny shoulders back
with the casting of a line.
we had old bamboo rods he tied knots from,
and the clear
invisible thread would cut red and white lines
into his rheumatic fingers
and we would watch them fly along
age never seemed so silly
a thing to fear,
than when we were with
that old lion.
and we still find fissures in our bellies and chests
from the pain caused from him having to move on