spawning salmon

Yesterday’s salmon

Yesterday’s salmon

Just beneath the river’s

shimmering skin, sleek, scarred

in shallow waters they lunge upstream,

up ladders, between rocks.

 

A twist, a splash, an arc to drop

dead still before another surge.

An ode to salmon’s final journey.

 

A pause, a gathering strength

against gravity’s downward

racing, tumbling current

against time in erratic spurts.

Having circled an ocean now a

return tracing back familiar scents,

the stars, following inner compass.

 

Their eyes a glistening delicacy.

Seagulls, ravens and crows wait.

Otter, wolf and bear pace by

the river’s edge, slink, swipe

then scamper a feast in tow.

The breeze in waves suspends

rotting relics, like discarded socks,

 

ghostly white, swollen, nauseating,

half-buried in the turquoise riverbed.

Their homecoming to birth waters

changing colours to mate, to spawn

before exhaustion offers them up:

phosphorus, carbon, sulfur, nitrogen

nutrients feeding forest and fern.

 

Black wings glide, swoosh down

witnessing an unlikely chance,

bear claws at the river’s bend

rocky outcrops, hidden tributaries.

The water’s murky blanket sways

in hollows that once could see, now

turned up receive the sky and stars.

 

Teeth barred on their side they lay.

This blessed passage in between

silt blinding, gills obstructed

beyond the unrelenting impulse

to swim on. One last breath’s appeal

just long enough to thrash, wiggle,

bury down—lay eggs this once.

©cristina viviani 2022

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