My Name Is Salmon, Like The Fish;

I Watched My Beautiful Sister Running . . . And I Knew She Was Not Running Away From Me Or Toward Me. Like Someone Who Has Survived A Gut-shot, The Wound Had Been Closing, Closing - Braiding Into A Scar For Eight Long Years.

Each Time I Told My Story, I Lost A Bit, The Smallest Drop Of Pain. It Was That Day That I Knew I Wanted To Tell The Story Of My Family. Because Horror On Earth Is Real And It Is Every Day. It Is Like A Flower Or Like The Sun; It Cannot Be Contained.

For Me, Heaven Would Be A Lack Of Alienation. The Whole Time I Was Growing Up, I Felt Comfort Was Inherently Evil. I Think That For Me Heaven Isn't About Couches And Milk Shakes And Never Having A Troubling Thought Again.

I Watched My Brother And My Father. The Truth Was Very Different From What We Learned In School. The Truth Was The Line Between The Living And The Dead Could Be, It Seemed, Murky And Blurred.

Hold Still," My Father Would Say, While I Held The Ship In The Bottle And He Burned Away The Strings He'd Raised The Mast With And Set The Clipper Ship Free On Its Blue Putty Sea. And I Would Wait For Him, Recognizing The Tension Of That Moment When The World In The Bottle Depended, Solely, On Me.