Little Bluegills

The next day, to apologize, my dad took the children fishing at the pond. For bait, they dug up inchworms and one fat nightcrawler. Every second or third cast ended in a tangle. The neighbors said the pond has been “totally fished out.” No bass or catfish remained. Just oxygen-starved carp and hundreds of bluegill fingerlings.

The children screamed when their bobbers bounced. Little bluegills pecking at their worms. Too small to hook themselves. You could see them swimming near the surface, every so often—bodies the size of small leaves, eyes glassy. When startled, they moved as lightning moves.

 

Luke Rolfes is the author of Sleep Lake, Impossible Naked Life, and Flyover Country. He co-edits Laurel Review.

Photo Credit: S. Zelov