Variations on a Theme: Drawn to Film

Prism

Emma Newbery

I am usually afraid

to write what is true,

to make the past

shiny in

that way.

to give it a gloss it doesn’t

deserve, because it

was just the time

we all went

fishing.

But try as I do to ground it,

keep it, I still re—

member it as

though through a

prism,

glittering out on the rocks like

a dream I once had.

We used the new

flies that time,

threaded

jumpers my uncle had sewn. We

waited and watched and

kept by the rocks,

low and crouched,

slipping.

We caught a bass. Well, our uncle

caught a bass, we ate.

Through the bend in

my glass, I

see it.

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