Issue 13

Autumn 2014


The Pit

By a black pond deep in the reclaimed land
of coal’s abandon, two boys squat the edge
of nowhere, fishing. There’s supper in there
just a wish of bob and sinker away.
The young one, slag smut blackened to his bone
rattled huge hot-air balloon belly, pulls
his sunk line snap tight. This ain’t no dink trout.
He shouts down the big boy to help haul it.
At home, Mama makes over it, fish-eyed.
No meat for months since Daddy broke his back
down the number nine. But tonight they’re fine.


Sherraine Pate Williams