Essays

Chain Pickerel

The wooden rowboat was soft gray with rusted oar locks. It held two plank seats: a long one in the stern and a shorter one in the middle. There was also a small, flat triangle of wood at the tip of the bow. At three-and-a-half years old, I could squish my body under that triangle, if we were out on the water and it started to rain, only it never rained, especially not that mid-July week when we took our camp on Long-Sought-For Pond. It was always sunny, with airy mornings, comfortable afternoons, and music-filled nights…

Read Chain Pickerel in Issue 6, Volume 1, Fall 2021, on page 31.

Published in Collateral an online literary journal run by people who are directly and indirectly impacted by violent conflict and military service.