Tamie Parker Song
There has been a blow and the waves keep coming, radiating against the beach—and I do mean against—and we just have to take it. The men enter it but I don’t, at first. I’ve had too many weeks, too many years, fear-sickened by the wave of each wave above our rolling boats, again and again and again. I’ve done this my whole life, commercial setnetting for salmon off a small island in the Gulf of Alaska, but somehow today I just can’t.
I stay on shore for the first net-pick, but my stomach heaves anyway because people I love are out in that blow, so on the second pick I go out, and no sooner have I reached the net than the ocean goes calm, as if to my touch.
On the break between the second and third picks, my cousins invite me to pick wild raspberries with them in the inner lagoon. The sea is hot blue now, flat-calm as they say. And we are picking raspberries. We came straight from fishing so we’ve all worn boots, arms spread with fish scales and traces of jellyfish. What is a wild raspberry if not the sun’s blood as known by… Read more »