Cheryl Weber
Cheryl Weber, retired, is an active member of the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute through the University of Illinois, Urbana. In 2018, she rediscovered writing poetry through a class on Writing and Performing poetry. Since then, she has won numerous awards through the Illinois State Poetry Society, as well as taking fourth place in the national Blackberry Peach Spoken Word Competition. Cheryl is a regular at open mic performances throughout Champaign/Urbana area and is a member of the Quints poetry writing group. She resides in Mahomet, Illinois.
Gone Fishing
Near the road, half-way to the creek, an
oak tree limb goes fishing. Only thing missing
is the floppy hat with jigs and spinners pinned
on, cargo shorts with too many crazy pockets.
But the bobbers are there. Plenty of them.
A dozen or so hang from the branch like
Christmas ornaments carefully strung
on a balsam bough. Waggler bobbers,
cork boppers, slipped bobbers, fixed bobbers,
yellow and red, red and white, some bright green,
some orange and green. The fishing lines are
there too—entangled, caught between freshly
sprouted oak leaves that have pushed past
the snarled mess, the knotted threads. All the
bad casts from past fishing expeditions now
belong to the tree, waiting to be sorted out,
waiting maybe to try again. We had a hard
conversation this morning about what’s been
said and not been said. About the behind years
and the ahead years, the tangled fishing lines
from unfinished arguments and unspoken
differences intertwined, interwoven within
44 years and counting. We own up to all the bad
casts caught in the tree limb, the rods, the reels, the
hooks and figure it is okay to say we will try again—
try again to do better. To let the thumb off the spool,
let the lure splash into the water, and wait patiently on
the shore by the peaceful creek under oak tree shade.
