Creative Non-Fiction / Poetry / Writing

Day 49 of 35


It was the 4th of July
the mountains behind us burned
and continued to for a month.
The flames died down
but we lost the summer to smoke.
When finally our mothers
let us as far as the pier,
we could not bring ourselves
to pull the fish from the water,
so we didn’t bait the hooks,
only tied our lines to the rails
and dropped them in.

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