"Three Shards"

Click here to listen to John Skoyles read this poem.


At certain times of day
the lure displays itself
too loudly. Too proud
the triple treble hooks,
too bright the lacquered
shank of snare
flashing through a school
of bass, an invitation
pressed and passed.
At times like this,
it's best to join those
collecting stones
and shells and sticks,
reminders that
we won't survive
even as we resist
the pull to go beyond
where we belong,
like fish.
Flat stones taken home,
no voice or song,
but strong, heavy playing cards
facedown on a shelf
for us to touch in comfort,
not alarm—for that,
we have the phone
whose ring at certain times
means just one thing.

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