The steady billow of wind whips rain through
evergreens rooted shallow in the sandstone
islands. Up in the Northern Triangle, only
the dotting of needled stone challenges the waves
and this wind. Yet the sun grants wishes
and we enjoyed this wilderness. To my father,
his brother, my brother and me, alive
and casting for walleye, the wave-capping wind
still treats us like men, like any other islands.
Our boat rides low, then high.

Our common memory now, the years worn down
since that water held its fish, but we thought
as men do. We criss-crossed a border made
of water and time, and still do.
“Remember that trip,” we say, together again 
now and then. It was the angry water,
and the barren stone, and the fishless days,
and our strength we ate by fire. To be sure,
we were nourished. When I recall it,
my hungry bones drift satisfied for a moment.

Chuck Larson graduated from UWEC (B.A. 1990), where he edited the NOTA creative arts magazine, and the University of Wisconsin School of Law (J.D. 2000). Born in Chippewa Falls, grew up in Eau Claire and Lake Hallie, and now makes his home in Altoona with his wife of 25 years.