A poem by Elinor Brooks
Lines from the Creek You thread the bait on to the barb with semi-circular motion: a pink comma of prawn robing the hook in succulent black- veined flesh. Your feet sink into the shingle shelf: you step back, shift your weight and flick the line, feeling through the rod its tautness out over blue calm. I watch you, shirt unbuttoned in the Queensland sun, … Continue reading A poem by Elinor Brooks