A common name of different species of pelagic fish, including bonito, shark, tuna, and salmon.
When I was twelve or thirteen, my mother caught me and a girl friend bouncing our vaginas
off the end of the bedpost like live bait. Our bodies rubbing
against the maple wood, trying to catch a spark on the cold, hard thing between our legs, was an awakening.
The mesquite of our innocence rising to where my mother and her friend sat talking.
And we were just at the point of falling off the bone, the moment when the pink of the salmon is so tender,
when my mother opened the door, doused our flames with holy water
and scripture, made us forget the sweet communion of burning.
Years after she scrubbed the cedar from our clothes,
I learned that my body is only alive when it is free to choose
when and where it starts a fire, how long it allows itself to be wet and waiting.
The power in knowing that my body is no tadpole, no fish to roast over hot coals.
It is the flame itself, the blue and red ghost that survives, even after the smoke clears.