Fly-Fishing
by Cooper Esteban
The arm stretched completely
Out, muscles relaxed into
The momentum swinging through
That hand not even remotely
Aware that the grip
Its fingers bite carries
The sword that will knock the help-
less head into the jaws of the Furies:
Thetis, not once given leave
To sleep in your father's kingdom,
To wander the kelp the fish swim
In silence, instead I have
To hold myself erect
Climbing these hills that rise toward
One hill, with a basket full of all I've caught
To satiate my father's lord.
Cooper Esteban's new and selected poems, tentatively entitled "Mosefolket," will appear from Ravenna Press later this year.