A special memory


American Life in Poetry

A wise and loving father fishing with his two sons. Norman Maclean wrote about a time like that in his book “A River Runs Through It,” and here’s a poem by Todd Davis that catches much the same feeling in far fewer words. That’s not to denigrate Maclean but to point out that there are many ways for us to write about our lives. The poet lives in Pennsylvania and this poem is from his book “Native Species,”published by Michigan State University Press.

Thankful for Now

Walking the river back home at the end

of May, locust in bloom, an oriole flitting

through dusky crowns, and the early night sky

going peach, day’s late glow the color of that fruit’s

flesh, dribbling down over everything, christening

my sons, the two of them walking before me

after a day of fishing, one of them placing a hand

on the other’s shoulder, pointing toward a planet

that’s just appeared, or the swift movement

of that yellow and black bird disappearing

into the growing dark, and now the light, pink

as a crabapple’s flower, and my legs tired

from wading the higher water, and the rocks

that keep turning over, nearly spilling me

into the river, but still thankful for now

when I have enough strength to stay

a few yards behind them, loving this time

of day that shows me the breadth

of their backs, their lean, strong legs

striding, how we all go on in this cold water,

heading home to the sound of the last few

trout splashing, as mayflies float

through the shadowed riffles.

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