“. . . until someone finds you / something else to do.”
The anchor is a victim
no more than the dripping oars
or the lines made taut
by soft lead sinkers.
The anchor is not a poem
but a guide with sand in its eyes
and a hook too big and blunt
for any mouth.
The anchor is a contract
not of glory but of patience
between surfaces and hours,
flashing lure and fading light.
The anchor is a prayer for the father and son
and for the boat kneeling before the reeds
as it reaches for each shore
carrying its own lake and a coiled rope.
Jeffrey Thompson was raised in Fargo, North Dakota, and educated at the University of Iowa and Cornell Law School. He lives in Phoenix, Arizona, where he practices public interest law. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Neologism Poetry Journal, North Dakota Quarterly, The Main Street Rag, Passengers Journal, Tipton Poetry Journal, The Tusculum Review, FERAL, and Unbroken. His hobbies include reading, hiking, and photography.