Troutmas

Troutmas

Spring pours across a Saturday morning creek, wind-lined

in this dandelion time of year. The tribes are restored: tents

pop up like international flags, countries and clans joined

by colors, by flames of bonfire and sunrise laughter,

pan-seared. This is the first day of Trout, hooks and lines

tossed like banners down the centre. Men, women,

older children coach the younger until distraction leads

those away. No matter. Community will guard them

as they play the banks, quietly picking clover, grasses

and learning the joke of skunk-cabbage. Joy detonates like

a firework display--”Look what my son just landed!”--for these

fishermen also hold a license to carry shooting stars.

Published Autumn 2016 at Rat's Ass Review