My Dinner with Salmon

a poem

---

Dear Salmon, I smell your brine
as I walk through the market. 

Dear Sherman, the fishing net
was my coffin and cradle.

Dear Salmon, I give thanks
for the fishers who caught you.

Dear Sherman, it's good to give
praise to calloused hands.

Dear Salmon, I hear ancient
songs when I'm near you.
I hear my grandmother
humming a melody.

Dear Sherman, I'm a jukebox
singing salt songs.

Dear Salmon, how do I describe
the color of your skin and flesh?

Dear Sherman, my skin is a silver
mirror and my flesh is orange
lightning reflected in that mirror.

Dear Salmon, I take you home
and run my fingertip across
your fillet to find and remove
     the pin bones. 

Dear Sherman, your touch
is the sacred rite
that your tribe has conducted
     for millennia. 

Dear Salmon, I sometimes flinch
when I hold you over
     the flames.

Dear Sherman, every living
thing exists to provide food,
shelter, and clothing for all
the other living things.

Dear Salmon, I place you
on the plate. I thank you
     for this feast.

Dear Sherman, I am a page
in your holy text. You are
a page in mine. I am
the theology that you need.
You are the theology
     that I need.

Dear Salmon, I apologize
for my sharp teeth.

Dear Sherman, each of us
is a beautiful beast.

This poem was inspired by a writing prompt by

Maya C. Popa