il_fullxfull.209543144

A Story of My Uncle

on September 10 | in Stories, Uncategorized | by | with No Comments

I was four…

and my uncle,

for want of bread,

fished.

 

“I fed them everything,”

he said, triumphant

- his bulging sack

stinking brown

over his shoulder;

“I fed them everything,

and here is the sack,”

he said, to my mother

- her elbow outsticking

like a giant knuckle

from a green sweater.

 

He stood tall before me,

my black-headed uncle,

and I imagined him

wandering the shore

like some Francis,

casting crumbs

to the fish who gathered there.

 

“We will eat tonight,”

he said,

his load dropping

in a corner

down the long yellow veranda

where I supposed beetles hid.

“We will eat tonight!

Prepare the fish!”

 

It beckoned me,

that sack,

twitching

like the body of a fallen man;

but I was not brave enough,

in those days,

to touch things

in corners where beetles lay.

 

While my aproned mother

served

the white and steaming fish,

I studied: my uncle’s delight

his mouth,

the deliberate mixture

of earth and sea,

 

and discovered

how little he understood

the activities of saints.

But in my wisdom,

I too

stooped to eat.

Pin It

related posts

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>

« »