seems like somehow the last two Novembers have been related somehow… so I post this again…
gone fishing
25 november 2014
river Jackson-paton
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
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
but more often empty
maybe I have been
gone fishing