By Faith Allington

I wasn’t born here,

I still remember hours of gold

I traded for the pine-pitch

of forests, for basins

of rainfall and snowmelt.

This far north, the fog

is furrow-tongued

and the mountains hem

the dusk into place.

This far north, the blue silk

of the Pacific Ocean

turns grey with longing.

Each year the salmon return

to the place they were born,

orienting themselves on stars,

magnetite in their bodies

calling them home.

I watch from the shore

and feel the ache of them

fighting the currents

to find the heart of their longing,

emerging at the last

into no recognizable form.

Faith Allington is a writer, gardener and lover of mystery parties who resides in Seattle. Her work is forthcoming or has previously appeared in various literary journals, including Crow & Cross Keys, The Fantastic Other, The Quarter(ly), Bowery Gothic and FERAL.