gone fishing…

gone fishing

 

for brene brown, amanda palmer, and fritz tramonte

 

I’ve been away again

and in my infinite cleverness

and attempt to camouflage 

I was attempting to find

a different phrase to hide behind

but maybe I have been

gone fishing

 

I had a laugh once

with a vegan friend

about such hunting terms

just like gendered language

pervading our speech

but I digress

which is kinda like saying

gone fishing 

 

see, my fishing trips are

complicated

I don’t always know when I’m going

I never know how long I’ll be away

I don’t know what I’m looking to catch 

and I definitely don’t have a license 

 

these trips can’t be planned ahead

it’s just not possible to know

when the voices will call

and say, hey let’s go see

what we can find

since at any moment

something said, seen, felt

will send me reeling 

and cast me away

 

these fishing trips are strange, too

because I don’t know what I’m seeking

but then again

maybe i have some sense

that i’m looking for more of myself

searching for those eddies

where shadows and perhaps a good catch

linger

 

and I don’t have permission

since how can i ask for a license 

when no one seems to feel it’s ok

or understand

or want to be around me

or even ask how i am

but perhaps that’s because 

i don’t even ask

feeling that these fishing trips

are somehow forbidden

and that my longing for myself

is an unworthy hope

 

and if I really never know how long

they’ll last

then it seems awkward when I

begin to return

saying, oh, hi

I’ve been fishing

offered sheepishly 

as some cute metaphor

for a deep, dark internal journey

sitting in solitude

casting out lines

to see what I might catch

sometimes with a basket full

more often empty

maybe I have been

gone fishing