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Catching Shiners
by Maralee Gerke

Along the winding path,
our shoes scuffed up coarse yellow sand.
The sun so bright
we squinted our pale eyes
at water glittering
like a million broken mirrors.

With a long handled dipper
and tin pail in his hand,
dad waded in, fearless,
jeans rolled to his knees.
Leaning into the current
he scooped up shiners

and poured them
like a wriggling silver chain.
We thrust our fingers
into the slippery, swimming mass,
and sleek bodies slithered
through our caress like memory.


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