Liz Lanigan

You Don’t Know Me

Woven cane, the colour of biscuits; a leather strap, dubbined soft and metal buckled; under the lid, fly hooks crafted with guinea fowl and pheasant feathers, a knife, a thermos flask.

Tonight, his fishing basket waits at the front door; his rod, snug in a canvas bag Mum made, leans against the wall.

It’s still dark when I hear the creek of floorboards on the stairs; the Hillman’s engine warming up.

so tuned in
to the ways of trout
if only
my father hadn’t feared
my ardent adolescence

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About the Author

Liz Lanigan has been in the tanka community for about eight years. Her tanka and tanka prose have been published in various journals. She is currently the tanka prose editor for the Tanka Society of America’s journal, Ribbons.

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