Salmon fillets on the table. The sun’s orange grove. Hard wood.
Fish looks beautiful. They say. Moths have dreams too.
I lived here once. For the song. My son was 6 months 
old when I moved. He is with me today. Scraping salmon skins. 
With an ulu. He is 12 now. Emily says. Sometimes the fish comes 
from what my family catches. The floor creaks. We all come back. 
So do the Salmon. People want to connect. They are happy 
telling stories. All the rivers run together. Her grandmother gave her a gift.