
-freelance writer, editor
& published poet-
Alexandra S. Thompson
Where the Bass Hide
a boat shimmies its curved belly against
waters deep.
Fishing rod sunk down, line
weaving into blackness, hurtling
downwards with a crawfish attached
that floats just above sea-
bottom, wiggling.
There it hangs.
Wind northwest ‘cross my
cheeks, cold.
Sun it sinks, lower.
Island blueberries
hustled by small hands
greedy for the best bunch,
emerge from the forest, to
sun-drenched rock edge where
mommy & daddy sit with
gin. Slow fizz. Bubbles trapped against
glass. Burst. Look mommy look, look what I
brought for you…
A heavy shove away
Blueberry juice stains
the rats’ faces, dirty hands
wipe snot across plump cheeks.
The sun has fallen now
so low, its edges hardly burn
the hemisphere alive.
Bait sunk low, crawfish wiggling
every now & then.
I know where the bass hide.
There, in cloudcast skies under rock-
ledge, where the shallow falls unexpectedly into
the deep. There they swim.
The boat crawls forward,
towards an island
I lower my rod.