Fiction    Reading Room    Memoir    Interview
Lynn Davidson

Door County fish boil

At the Door County fish boil
you stand too close to the column of fire
watching kerosene laced flames boil off the fish oil.
You don’t wait you just put
the too-hot flaky flesh
between your lips.
Ahead of you the aspen and the pine multiply
and the white scut of a deer
is a fuse lit and lit again
drawing the hunter through the forest
gun barrel grazing his hair
when he looks up
to tell time by the sky.
Just outside the car park a grizzly
flexes one heavy paw
her long claws make a flirtatious arc
against the ground.
A timber wolf lopes with easy limbs
around the empty sling of its stomach.
You talk about the glut of cheese
I pointlessly write down the name of the supplier
then run through the words with thick lines
hearing the fresh deep-fried cheese curds
squeaking between your teeth.
The thing is we are in different places
me lightly here
you there walking so hard
you scare up a loon whose weird cry
bounces like a tennis ball across
so, so many lakes.
 
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Cliff Fell
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Jan Lauwereyns
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