San Geronimo Creek
1.
Cohos spawn where willows shade the creek.
Females swish their tails to build a nest,
then wait for horny males whose final quest
brings them to these damsels, silvery, sleek,
who show their bellies, red as apples, when
they sweep their tails, wearing them to white,
to make their mounds of gravel and invite
males to come up close beside them, then
drop the pearly eggs beneath their fins
to incubate all winter in the redd
under trees whose leaves have all been shed.
In spring they’ll hatch, becoming alevins
and head downstream someday to find the sea
where fishing nets run deep but krill is free.
2.
Three years in the sea are quite enough
before it’s time to come back to the stream
where they were born and grizzlies used to dream,
while Pomos, Miwoks, Yuroks lined the bluff
with nets to dip into the salmon run,
the fish like steppingstones from shore to shore.
But settlers took the land and fish and more,
building dams and killing with their guns.
No grizzlies fish today along this coast
where redwoods reach into the foggy sky
and salmon used to come to mate and die
by millions. I can see the salmon ghosts
in pools and riffles while the Yuroks drum.
Take out the dams now! Let the salmon come!
This poem first appeared in News from Native California (Summer 2023).
—
Lucille Lang Day is the award-winning author or editor of 20 books, including four poetry chapbooks and seven full-length collections, most recently Birds of San Pancho and Other Poems of Place (Blue Light). The founder and publisher of Scarlet Tanager Books, she received her B.A. in biological sciences, M.A. in zoology, and Ph.D. in science/mathematics education from UC Berkeley, and her M.A. in English and MFA in creative writing from SF State University. lucillelangday.com
