My brother is casting out
his line weighted with lead
& mackerel-baited tackle
it traces into grey eternity
before splashing down
fifty meters beyond the surf
we are making a good show
of fishing our rods bristle
in their rests like antennae
ready to receive vibrations
of spiny dogfish whiting
freckled dab whatever
we can take we’ll keep
from this deserted stretch
of Norfolk coast so late in November
*
we haven’t seen each other
in more than a year the guilt
of this catches in my throat
& I spit into my open palm
a bloody hook what kept me
away hungry for being other
a stranger lured in by
loneliness injustice believing
I deserve these punishments
*
the scrolling line of breakers
curving away to either side of us
vanishes into mist
behind us the beach rises
to desolate dunes peaked
with swaying Lyme grass
brother I’m beginning
to suspect that this is a dream
which means we should
brace to be wounded by
what we reel in or to walk
with nothing the mile
of empty sand to the car
hands stiff with salt & cold
if this is a dream
or the life I think it is
_________
Matt Haw is the author of Saint-Paul-de-Mausole (2014) published with tall-lighthouse. He is the recipient of an Eric Gregory Award and the 2019 iOTA Shot Pamphlet Award. His word has appeared in Poetry Birmingham, The Rialto, Tears in the Fence and more. He also makes films and writes essays.
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