Kinship with Salmon




She looks at her river

Worked up by hubris,

rushing with ignorant rage.

“Why must we go back?” she asks.

The fever simply says, “Because it’s always been.”

To them, her words mean danger.

So she flails at the rapids that rush to silence her,

Slips past grizzlies who feast without guilt,

And ignores her own anger

At what’s always been.

Finally, she buries her eggs in the gravel

And dies

With hope that her smolt yet unborn

Will break from tradition,

Think for themselves,

Stop self-destructing,

And live.