These hands
Are soaked in the blood of almost 50 years of salmon
Run after run
Season after season
They’ve cradled dying flesh
Removed mesh after mesh after mesh
And it’s a weird dichotomy
Taking the life of something you say you love
Not to ease pain
But for your own gain
And yes, we feed the world
And yes, we feed ourselves
But that matters not to this fish
Its journey home interrupted
These hands
Are soaked in the blood of almost 50 years of salmon
I feel like I should feel worse
Feel like I should feel remorse
But it is a life I enjoy
And the salmon are dying
Whether on the deck of my skiff
Or the bed of the river
Either way they nourish
Another generation will flourish
And I will always cherish
The life they provide
These hands
Are soaked in the blood of almost 50 years of salmon
May I never take them for granted
The salmon
Or these hands