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Issue 10 Home
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Passing Through Fishing pole left behind, he fishes with a pointed stick, whittled
to a sharp dagger by his penknife. With speed and agility he stabs the trout
in the shallow stream, one by one, stacks them knee-high with another razored
stick holding them together. A boy hikes past, stops and gazes at the stack. He touches them.
Shivers run through his lean body. Fish eyes spy his plying fingers. He thrusts
his hand in between two trout and feels a heartbeat as the man wades further out
into the stream. Trembling, he takes the stack, drags them along the hiking
trail to a nearby cascade of water flowing to a lower pond. Closing his eyes, he
pulls the stick out of the trout, opens his eyes, watches blood splatter on this
hands, and pushes all the fish into the water. After rinsing his hands, he tears
down the path to see how many survived. Without catching another trout that day, the angler returns to his
missing trout stack. He gropes the earth, feels heart beats pounding in
excited rhythms, glances up and down the hiking trail, scouts for footprints,
noticing only a pair of paw prints with three toes apiece. ~R. A. Robison Most recently published work: News From Native California, NAWW Weekly Newsletter, The Long Trip Home, For-Immediate-Release, and The Book of Remembrance Poetry Anthology. E-mail. © 2002 by R. A. Robison. All Rights Reserved.
© Copyright 2002 by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved. |