Between Jobs
       

Last spring, I barreled across the cascades
hungry for snow
and the slight weight of stream on my back.

Bullying my way upriver, the rocks carving blister
over bruise, I cut my palm
on a small cliff's edge and pulled in wet skin

trying to pall the fact that after all these years
I still don't know who to call
when the bills aren't paid and the salmon turn up

open mouthed at my door.

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Copyright © 2021 Lilian Ha All rights reserved
from Sugar House Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission