Commercial Fishing

The first Sockeye I killed in Alaska

Must’ve been five pounds.

Oncorhynchus nerka

Or Sayak in Yup’ik.

I watched it fall flopping on deck,

Large galaxy eyes staring blankly, scales

like a coat of armor catching the sun.

Beautiful, I thought to myself.

And it felt murderous to bleed it.

I felt the power of man in the

Engine-run aluminum boat,

100 fathoms of net in the water,

Yet I felt a tradition of nature,

Of men before me.

Eat, be eaten.

So I stuck my knife in the gill plate.

They’re worth more bled.

After the first, each fish

Was paycheck, commodity.

Five pounds

Or a quarter-a-pound.

And then in storms

With deck and holds full

Sloshing through salmon

On hands and knees tired,

Sea spray hitting the face

Constantly.

They were still beautiful.

It was only work.