the return

good: she has soaked up the ocean,
absorbed its nutrients into her pink healthy flesh.
that’s what salmon are supposed to do.
they are migrants, shape-shifters,
converting their bodies from freshwater to saltwater
then back again.
they pass thresholds,
not like wind through a veil, more like
here becoming gone.

it’s time.

an invisible force compels her
and her brethren
to coalesce,
begin swimming
in a single direction.
she gets lost
in the torrent.

the sea funnels inland,
becomes cold and clear,
and they must
breathe differently.
their cells
know how.

they move upriver
until their bodies
expunge themselves —
fish-flesh rotting,
molding, separating,
raining upon
river-stones.

they reach their birthplace
as living carcasses,
eyes receded
in bloody holes,
mouths gaping,
white bones exposed
to rushing water.

they deposit eggs
into stirred-up mud,
kiss them goodnight,
and die.

good: they’ve burned up their energy reserves,
returned their meat to the ecosystem,
returned their consciousness to the void.
good: that’s what they were
supposed to do.

don’t worry,
you’ll follow them.

you are basically the same
as a salmon.

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© 2023 nessa jasper