Fishing With God

Fishing With God

Saturday night I dreamed I was on a journey to the perfect place

So I went fishing Sunday morning and enjoyed an abstract painted sky

As I headed toward the snowcapped mountain peaks east of town

To enjoy the smell and sound of the river under the Canyon Bridge

I smelled a Willow fire burning as soon as I opened my truck door

I knew someone else was skipping church to go fishing with God

I climbed down the riverbank to find a man boiling coffee in a can

And cooking Trout on a stick while he continued to fish with a twig

When I said hello he nodded back without emotion or words

The age he wore on his face spoke verse he wouldn’t say

Hours of silence passed then I decided there was things I should ask

So I asked him where he was from and where he was going

He looked at me silently for a long uncomfortable time

Then spoke in a grumbly smokers voice as he looked inside me

I’m from a gray Mountain Meadow full of dead wildflowers

I’m on the road looking for the map that will show me the plan

I didn’t know what to say to my question answered that way

So I said oh and looked away thinking of something else to say

Some more silence passed as I tried to think of questions to ask

Finally I said, I’m a pretty good listener would you tell me your story

He examined me with his aged eyes and sipped coffee from his can

And said, I left home at the age of 12 to save myself from a living hell

On my journey, I’ve been beaten almost to death and had frostbite

I stayed in shelters, I was detained in jail, I slept in cold dumpsters

I’ve begged to survive, and have shared endless rivers with Jesus Christ

His poetic answer was like an answered prayer of gratitude

I thanked him for sharing the river then shared my money with him