Today's poem is by Cecily Parks
Adult pink humpback salmon lose their sheen
as they prepare to spawn. As they leave
the ocean, the river strips
the metal in layered rips
from their sidesa release in the body's weave,
the gown snags, gives out, collapsesblue-green
gives way to gray. The light did that in the room
where your body last covered mine.
Below the ground, the gravel
met the windows. I'd travel
farin that grotto, through dim-lit brine
as night seeped inI'd go upstream, through flume
and rock, pressing toward where the water thinned
and lost its bite. Cold work, to undress
then shed the body too.
but then I couldn't leave you,
who had me by the tail. I'd regress
by dark, my blackening form no longer finned.
Copyright © 2003 Cecily Parks All rights reserved
from The Southern Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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