Brian Wallace Baker
After the hurricane runs aground, its ragged sails billow over Kentucky
like salmon running up a swollen river yellowed by streetlights, back to
the place of spawning, migrating away from the devouring whirl, from
the drowned, from houses washed clean of their hospitality, from blackout
heat and humming generators, toward the longing that drives them beyond
sustenance, toward the scent of saltless headwaters, toward the nests their
mothers made, which they will make anew, where they will coalesce and
offer up their glistening eggs.
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PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This poem was previously published in the Lindenwood Review.
