- How Not to Learn to Fish
Because I never learned to draw a hand, a wrist, a fist, becausewhen I try to put on paper something human whatI end up making are lists, number of ingredients, type of fishI wish I’d eaten, nobody mentions what Simon Peter caughtwhen Jesus commanded he again lower the nets whichproves nothing yet experience sure seems to hint that ifyou expect little a guppy’s rich as swordfish, artisanalGruyère’s the same delish as the single Kraft Single I sneakwhile making the kid’s grilled cheese, I’ve never wanted to toreadorany part of my living, tongue or otherwise, into gated neighborhoodsof taste I couldn’t return from + live happy in the diesel-fumed bywaysof county fair pork chops, of greasy spears of fries lyingon a plate like fallen resolutions + because I never learned to aimmuch past ending the day with some additional wonder tippledinto the thimble of my guts or mental dashboard or—gasp— [End Page 622] soul I’ve never bothered putting graphite to deadtree to show what any of this has looked like, neither nets northe epochs that came up empty nor the catches that gavemy life’s modest boat ballast, payload of grace I’ll eventually sinkso gladly with. [End Page 623]
weston cutter is from Minnesota and now lives, loves, teaches, parents, and roots for the Twins in and from Fort Wayne, Indiana.