I find him squatting beside an open fire. It is mid-afternoon, and he shades his face when he looks up. Suddenly, his eyes widen to whiteness.
melting lake
I show the grandkids
how to walk on water
One hour earlier, I had pointed to a sprat and then to myself. The fish had slipped through his net and was lying on the beach. He nodded, picked it up, and handed it to me with a toothless smile. And then he was gone.
I walked north awhile and waded into the surf. The cast was no more than forty feet, but the tarpon took immediately, rushing away in a broad arc ... that brought it closer and closer to shore. Pretty soon I’d dragged it onto the sand.
gasping for air
my mother’s death
resurrected
The old man stands. He holds a stick wrapped with fire bread. He breaks off a piece, hands it to me. The hand is shaking. Then, without a word, he grabs the giant fish by its gill and backs away, crossing himself.
is the author of Tick-Tock, a haibun collection that received an Honorable Mention in the Haiku Society of America’s 2020 Merit Book Awards, and Eira (in press), a collection of haiku and haibun (both from Snapshot Press). Lew is also the co-author, with Roberta Beary and Rich Youmans, of Haibun: A Writer’s Guide (Ad Hoc Fiction, forthcoming). He is the haibun co-editor of Frogpond and holds an honorary doctorate from Bristol University. Born and raised in Wales, he now lives in Chicago with his wife, Roxanne Decyk. His other passions are fly fishing and gin martinis.
