of the rain slapping an abandoned couch along the Cle Elum River.
Sometimes the feeling is lapping; sometimes the feeling
is removed. I wanted laughter. There was none.
The archeologist extracted a femur from a riverbed. Seen from a plane,
its blue curves. When I stepped off the ferry,
the comforting smell of decay.
To lure the fish, we used tiny pieces of Wonder Bread.
Someone asked my forever age.
I said twelve.
I wasn’t sure whether it was coming in or out: the tide.
Lingcod, greenling, eel grass, gobies:
so many names.
To witness sculpins while sitting in a kayak, not quite convinced.
All that is sea. All that is tributary, heading to the sea.
I didn’t set out to believe.
Header photograph © Liz Baronofsky.
Martha Silano’s most recent collections are Gravity Assist and Reckless Lovely, both from Saturnalia Books. Her poems have appeared in such places as Poetry, Paris Review, and New England Review. She is co-author of The Daily Poet: Day-by-Day Prompts for Your Writing Practice and teaches at Bellevue College. Author photo credit: Langdon Cook.