I make a pilgrimage, which I do
whenever I find myself in the land
of my childhood, about once a year,
to the spot where I caught
my first fish, which also happens
to be my best fish, which doesn’t
say as much about my fishing
as you might like to think, so you
just watch it. It was one helluva
fish, if you are inclined to believe
any fisherman. I perch on the same
rocks and wood posts that still hold
back the earth, and there I am,
telling my dad I had a fish, him
saying it was just the current, me
reeling the line in anyway, and
that monster rising to the surface. 
That night we ate my fish fried.
Standing in the spot, where I will
return until I don’t, I make a sign
of respect, which is just for me,
and walk back to my family.