She wasn’t big, and probably not wild,
but she was mine, and the difference
between fishing and catching came home
to my senses like a lightning strike.

I took her picture as she lay
across my wet hand, slimed
with protective epidermal mucus.

Then I quickly released her
back to her stream. And just
like that, she was gone.

I stood there in the steady current,
looked up at the canyon walls
and took in the evening sky,
along with a moment to admire
the dry fly that I had gingerly
presented, and the barbless hook
that held her to my line.

And then it was time
to head home, heart held high.

When I walked in the door and told you,
I beamed as though I were a boy
at the pond with an earthworm
and a bluegill attached to a plastic
Fischer Price rod and reel.

I should have known
that’s how it’d be.
I should have known you’d catch me
with just that smile.

***

Andy Stager is from Akron, Ohio, and has lived in South Carolina, Korea, Switzerland, and Colorado. He has a PhD in divinity and a DMin in the sacred art of writing. He has published poetry in Ekstasis, Fare Forward, Rejection Letters, Dust Poetry, and elsewhere. He is a fly fishing guide, a counseling psychology student, and a pastor residing in Denver with his family.