When I of Fish Eat
When I of fish eat; when, with knife and fork,
I break the tender segments of flesh within my plate
I feel the pulling back. Strong I feel it;
Pulling me back to my forefathers,
To shores not yet trodden by white men.
It is, then, not a mere eating of the flesh,
A delighting in the sensual taste.
It is, for me, more than this: it is a revelation.
The sea surges before me, washing upon long shores;
Heaving against jagged rocks; as it did of old.
And this sea holds more than just its beauty,
Its aboundingness. It is something sacred;
It is like a parent to me. For think I then
That the sea was my forefathers' very existence.
Fishermen were they. From the sea came their very life.
This then is what it is when, with knife and fork
I lift a morsel of fish to my mouth.