"The Fisherman"
THE FISHERMAN
In his eleventh summer
the boy and his family
took a holiday cottage
for two weeks beside a
rushing river.
On his first day there
the boy met the neighbor.
Wearing all green he
Stood amidst the waters,
casting a line,
for it was time
of running trout.
That summer, the boy learned
names and mysteries
of flies cunningly designed
to lure unsuspecting fish
to their end.
Fly names themselves a melody;
Alexandra Wet Invicta
Barbless Blae Butcher
Greenwell Glory Winged;
recitation riverine memory.
Friend for two weeks,
old man he never saw again
lived in stone cottage alone.
He ate some of what he caught,
threw back others.
His hand on the boy’s, guiding his cast,
fisherman revealed the world is a complex place
full of evil, yet good glistens like
gold seams in river’s rocks.
Aged boy, now white haired
like that fisherman of long ago
sees darkness descending covering
pouring down unresisted
river unstoppable in spate.
Pause, old one, remember
hope that inspired this
holiday companion;
“fish the river, take just enough
leave the rest, but above all
keep your eyes always on the best.”
High summer now yet even as
sun’s rays bathe the land
we know green must give way
to autumn’s brown.
When all’s stripped away,
river remains
juicy trout will come.
As light and long days return
he’s remembering his
friend the fisherman
standing amidst history’s flow.
© Phil Kemp 2024