Salmon Said Surrender







Jap,’ he spits, long after the surprise attack.

The armless man, his sleeve pinned back, perhaps

a veteran, surprises back

at Robert Wholey’s fish market in Pittsburgh – Jap:

A word like these to wrap in wax as she, my mother,

in her worried accent cries, ‘Reeve head, preeze.’

The meat in cheeks

a delicacy. The eyes. The incense of the headless left

long after the beheading.

Sa-mon,’ she cries

over the scaling, a passport to the headless in their brine.

The yellow tuna begging on its ice. The frenzied scaling.

The buckets over-run with blues. The gutted monk. Lust

of capture. ‘And reeve head, preeze.’

She sniffs, pretends she doesn’t hear the word

Surrender thinly sliced,

served with ginger over rice.


For full access to articles in this and other issues, subscribe to the Asia Literary Review.


More Poetry

Please Register or Login

Register now for full access to News and Events, Web Exclusives, Blogs and Comments.

If you've already registered, please login.