I have caught the last salmon who will swim up this river.
I have hung him in the smoke for days.
When he grew dry and hard on the edges
I emptied him and fed the ruined meat back to the river.
It will go on. I have sewn leather
Into the hard salmon sides for comfort.
I think it is big enough
That I can lie inside, for surely
The last salmon is bigger than I am.
It is my thought that we all could fit in here,
And float down the river and all that weight,
All of us in our big salmon boat,
Could wash all of these dams out to sea
And start spawning all over, all of us.
Michael Zbigley is an MFA candidate at the University of Montana and has previously published in Red River Review and Slow Trains, with work forthcoming in Gin Bender.