Dawn at the Confluence
of the Kenai and the Russian

By Keith (K.P.) Liles

After I’ve brought in a sockeye salmon. All right,
after I’ve muscled a
fish out of the water and
dragged it across the bank, I hold it.
I pin it down
and say a prayer
— for its spirit, for its life sacrificed for
my hunger, my sport.
I suppose I want to make it known —
to who? I’m not sure. God. The animals — hey,
I haven’t forgotten how a bear mauled that poor
bastard six hours ago exactly
where I’m standing now — maybe I just need
to remind myself — that I am
grateful, not just some flippant jerk
participating in this ancient,
animal act — maybe I’m just trying to save my a-- —
maybe I’m not ready to deal with
what it tells me about myself
that I feel giddy, exhilarated, as I’m about to clobber
a red’s brains in with my bat —
because sometimes I wonder if my rituals protect me or
keep me from knowledge. You see,
sometimes — though fish are supposedly too dumb
to feel pain — when a salmon slaps,
head then tail, head then tail, across the rocks like
ghosts having a hell-of-a-time
trying to ride off with a teeter-totter; when I look
into that dilated, marbled eye;
and when its body shudders after the first blow
the only word for it.
The only word is horror.
And other times, I’d swear — with its upturned
chin and opened mouth — I’d swear it’s smiling,
like it’s in on a joke — it’s seen a larger
creature behind my back — it finds this whole ordeal
hilarious — smiling — a fish! — as if it’s satisfied with this story —
One day, like a trucker,
you’re killing yourself to make it home
when you decide, finally,
you’re going to smash that fly hanging
in the far corner of the windshield — or
you remember you haven’t eaten in too long —
You veer off course and
Wham! You’re ripped from the world
as you’ve always known it,
hauled off into an excruciating,
an exquisite, new light —
But then see, this
is what really wedges my waders in the rear —
Who can say what the truth is
in a fish’s face? It’s not going to tell you and
it has to go one way or the other? It can’t
be both, right? — boy, that meat
sure is sweet once it’s on the table.
Anyway, it’s no secret, I suppose,
why a fisherman
tugs on a flask after
he’s caught himself a sockeye salmon.

• Keith (K.P.) Liles, 27, lives in Anchorage. This poem won an Honorable Mention in Poetry for College students.