Forgetting
Grandma carried a catfish
wrapped in newspaper
and an empty bird cage
on a bus ride across the
river into the mountains.
She must have missed the
muddy river
where turtles, frogs, and
bottom feeding fish
fed family reunions and
summer parties
on her brother’s river
bank and pontoon boat:
When she moved Grandpa to
Florida
they bought a house
between the Ocean
and the River, so close
to each you could
see water on both ends of
the street.
After her sister moved
down
Grandma phoned her every
morning
begging her to beach fish
after typing practice.
Wearing Bermuda shorts,
sleeveless blouses
straw visors and clip on
sunglasses
they sat on short green
woven folding chairs
and threw long lines into
the waves.
Once grandma caught a
shark
on a long pole in a
bucket
and kept it on the hook
dragging it up the beach
and the block
just to prove she’d
caught it.
A neighbor made necklaces
out of shark teeth,
wearing one
with a puca shell
bracelet.
My mother tells stories.
Scrub jays swoop down
from live oaks
grab peanuts out of
fingers
fly off to peck ground
holes
and bury shells in the
sand.
