Before the extensions of my bones and the expansion of my skin, 

I had a fishing pole. 

Small, sharp rocks created indentions in the soles of my feet.

The smell of salt was carried by the wind, through my hair and past my fingertips.

Pull.

I had caught my first memory of the day.

Its whiskers were long, its mouth gaped for water.

Many memories like this were caught throughout the day.

Until six-legged creatures crawled out from underneath the rocks below my feet.

And like God was switching out backdrops in my play,

The sky went from blue to black —

Much like the sea before me.

Tired, I stood idly by, watching my father catch his own memories.

Before the extension of my fishing line and the expansion of the water, 

I had a hook on life.