Gone Fishing—for Jack Myers

by Andrea Blancas Beltran

You never told me
            You were leaving
When I asked.

You just propped up
            Your fishing pole
            By the front door,
Waited for      the perfect day.

All these years of knowing
             My heart
And its grave –digging fear of loss —
You chose simply
To not            respond.

You didn’t spare me.
Or the fish.