Johnette Loefgren Poet Narrative

To Daddy and the River

We turned the corner together
no longer able to see the winding question
of the river
the palm trees dipping their heads
at our departure 
back into the scrubby piney woods
where we belonged
   No longer privy to the melancholy
marvel of the living river
no longer able to peel the mist
from off the sunken shrimp boat
across the creek
where I took my target practice
with my Zebco and a 2407 paw paw lure
  where I caught 10 bass in a row
on a rainy day last summer
with my Daddy
running in and out of the porch
to check our lines
The bass popping at the raindrops
thinking they were dragonflies
touching the surface
pock marked
with the summer shower.
   I looked at Daddy,
lying in the back seat of the old 
station wagon
worn out and weak from chemo,
and I said Goodbye to them both,
to Daddy and the River

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