my grandfather teaches me to slice
a salmon into filets,
watch how I hold the knife. through the gills,
down the spine.
silver scales stuck to all my fingers,the wood table
wet with fish blood and purple
guts. he runs his knife down the spine,
see how the salmon moves like she’s
still alive?
every vertebra outline by the tip of the blade.
see how I hold her tight?
the salmon meat is red and full of blood
and bones too small to see.
she is all of our meals. within her we find
ourselves.
my grandfather is a small man, his eyes are blue.
there is nothing she is that you are not.
our hands are slick with the same blood.
McKayla Coyle is a graduate student in the MFA Creative Writing Program at The New School. McKayla is originally from Anchorage, Alaska and loves writing short stories about the Alaskan wilderness.
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