Lauren Fedorko

the gossamer silhouette 
of a 13-year-old boy
trudges across the inlet 
of the bay
he walks carefully, as if the coast
is sprinkled with shards of glass
his chubby cheeks
are still prevalent—even
at the cusp of manhood
his fishing net,
parallel with his ribs

today, he’s figured out
a piece of himself
he is more of a man
than he was this morning

he takes the blood-red sun
in and lets
it fill his lungs
hot breath on a windowpane

I think my father
was this way in the summer
of 1966
where the sand and the
crashing waves met
below an endless
periwinkle sky

I picture him
becoming more of a man
as he reels in
a largemouth bass
something he’ll later clean,
gut and
cook for himself

I remember the first time
I caught a softball on that beach—
my father slung
the ball at my face
“Catch it, baby! 
It’s the only way you’ll learn!”
my 9-year-old body leapt 
in the air
as it made a loud clap
into my glove
my father ran for me
swung my body
around his
in circles

About the author
Lauren Fedorko, M.Ed., is an Adjunct Professor of writing at Rutgers University, teaches AP Literature and Creative Writing, and advises the Gay Straight Alliance for her students. Her passion for writing is longstanding and ongoing, composed mostly of poetry and creative non-fiction. She enjoys exploring, good company, and traveling the world every chance she gets. Her work has previously been published in the Kelsey Review and The Inquirer.