An angler’s sonnet for Andre Ling cod, you are neither cod nor ling. No matter, I will always sing your praise. You gave me notice, cachet at eight; little else would do to rate the formation of a second thought, until the day I hooked you onto the pier— hideous prey with blue-green flesh— ministration needed, never sought. Don’t fear, though, the talk of those who’ve never dropped a line, stalked a river’s bed or known those who fish. As I draw my knife, I form a wish: grace my plate; live on in the sea. I will catch you again. I will be me.
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“Grace me plate, live long in the sea” a prayer for all we eat! ❤️
Very moving, and I love the flow of this one.