The salmon rot in the street after they are pulled from the water—
By the bear with wet black fur.
In the dark hallows of morning—
Before the big yellow bus—
comes to the sticks to pick us up—
I inspect the fish’s big sharp teeth.
Its body lies smashed—
Mish mashed—
On the yellow frosted lines over salted road.
Scales still stuck to ruddy truck tires—
Of the drunkard driving home.
~~
My name is Emilie Cates. I currently live along the sea with thickets of tourists and salty ice cream. But once I came from the forest. It was a place where salmon spawned and returned each year to complete their cycle. A place I cherish.
