“Creel” by Robert Wrigley …

Wrigley_15A poem from Robert Wrigley’s collection In the Bank of Beautiful Sins:


We sentimentalize the weaver, the hands
that love and bind methodical and true,
wicker tightly wound on ribs. Fronds
of fern too, and rainbow trout blue
and gold and rose, are likewise woven,
fishermen looping the air with their lines.
What is weaving but a kind of love in
the world for what holds: the tines
of branches locked among leaves, sure
elegance of burlap on the bundled roots
of a transplanted sapling, and if you’re
fishing, that dark nest at your hip boots’
top, nestled variegations of trout
and leaf, ribs and whitely-layered flesh—
streams falling all ways down and out,
the cold fabric of the river a mesh.


~ by samofthetenthousandthings on June 18, 2014.

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