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The Pull

Fishing with my Dad off the Miami pier,

watching the silver lines

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disappear against the shimmering blue,

waiting for that sudden pull,

the rod arching in the air

to signal: a catch! Something out there.

Waiting ...

Not one bite.

Evening came, and my Dad

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ambled over to the Cuban fishermen,

gabbed a bit, took

a few bills from his wallet,

and returned with two ten-pound bass

glimmering like treasure in the sun.

Back home, posing with our trophies,

our captain's hats cocked to one side,

sea monsters hoisted by their tails.

The camera snapped, a bright flash,

and the moment was saved.

That was the year I lost you, Dad.

Time escapes us. The photo darkens.

Nothing is spared. Yet

my hands are still reaching,

feeling for that sudden pull on the line -

a catch, a signal: something out there.


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