about how your dad taught me
to fly fish, when I had but
twelve years to my name
and didn't appreciate the art
behind our motions:
the subtlety of the wrist,
the grace of the arm,
the precision of the cast,
and the patience of the mind.
But I did love eating
Aldomak Snowballs
and hearing his stories,
wondering which were true
and which fictitious.
Two trout came home by
the end of my line
the first night, and we
had forged some bond
and grown more in love with
each other than ever before.
I wanted to let you know
about how your dad taught me
to fly fish,
but you are his mirror image
with his eyes looking back at me,
so it seems redundant to speak
of memories I feel you
have already experienced.
Copyright, Catherine Young, 2010
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