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​​​The Fissured Tongue Series 

I watch the eagle
Bob Gossom

​

​I watch the eagle
                 slam into the lake
Stunned, and then scrambling
                 across the slippery ice
She struggles and climbs
                 bleeding into the air
She steadies, circles, perches, and an hour later
                 slams down hard again
Testing in front of me
                 I make my way out
To a see a catfish frozen
                 into the ice
I spend a long time there
                 still, with the fish
Back on shore I go to the shed and
                 take the small pick
On the ice again
                 I chop at the surface
It cracks a little but
                 I mar the hard ice
I don’t stop until the dead catfish
                 cannot be seen
Freeing the eagle
                 from it’s confusion
Between what is alive and
                 what is gone
I return to the house
                 and sit by the window
Watching the lake for
                 a few more hours
My wife asks
                 am I OK?
I say yes, and then
                 I say no
She understands because last night
                 ​my father died
Picture
"Corridor in the Asylum" Vincent van Gogh, Oil color and essence over black chalk on pink laid ("Ingres") paper, 25 5/8 x 19 5/16in., 1889. Open source from The Met.
About the Author

The Los Angeles writer Bob Gossom is known for his distinctive poetry and love of music, movies, books, hiking, body surfing, and tap dancing. While not widely published, his new works are avidly anticipated by a small band of fanatic and loyal followers. His stage production "Versified" premiered in January 2020 at the Golden Performing Arts Center in Los Angeles, and featured this poem.
​
About the Work

"My Dad died on December 24th. Driving to my mother the next morning, a story my brother told me 15 years earlier about an eagle on his lake kept coming into my mind. It took me a while to figure out why, but later that day I wrote the first draft of this poem. The line structure models the conflicting thoughts about my Dad, who died almost instantly at 89 after a wonderful life: Contemplative on the left; angry, violent language loaded on the right."
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