Lake Toxaway, North Carolina
Grandpa and I carried
The three bluegill we caught
That Sunday up to the
House, water sloshing
Fish beats in the red
And white plastic
Cooler, cooler outside
Than in–grandma stood
At the glass door, arms
Akimbo, eyes smiling,
Our legs heaving our claim
Of the lake up-hill–
Grandma would scale
And fry the fish, each
Opal flake uprooted, falling
Around them as small
Messages from a god
Not so distant–not so
Forgiving as, that night
At dinner, I could still
See the flakes clinging
To grandma's hands.
-Jada Ach