Every now and then
When July got to steam
-Us kids folding up with lethargy-
And Mrs. Connors fed up from screaming
For sticking our heads in her icebox
We would drag ourselves on over
To where the Appomattox meets the James
Rods in tow
To my Daddy’s secret spot.
Now let me tell you-
That fishing hole
A little ways on past the Black Pine
Then down a little to the right
Well I swear, to this day
The catfish there-
All they did was bite
It must be said,
Those whiskered eels
Sure could put up a fight
But there was never a day
When we didn’t bring back a haul
Seven, ten fish… sometimes more.

Grandma, all smiles and hollers
Would hurry them out of my hands
Down to the cool basement
To gut them clean
“Before these kitties turn”, she used to say.
The next few days
The house
Still sweltering
Now stirred with pop and fry and sizzle
It didn’t smell so good
But by God it ate good.
Looking back now
I can still see Grandma’s old cast iron
Dropping in battered catfish fillets
One by one
As Daddy and I waited patiently on the front porch
Our stomachs growling
In the greatest summers
Of my life.

Ezy Reading is out every month.