Upstream
Born in fresh water shallows
she adjusts to survive
brackish deeps,
a migrant to the ocean,
unaware of where she came from
or what she’s forgotten,
just another fish in the sea…
until that rainy day
she turns, following
a quickening that propels her
in the opposite direction:
upstream.
It is hard, harder than anything
she has ever done, this
swimming against
the current.
Water churns to signify the struggle,
rivers roil and thrash;
her once-silver body darkens
with effort.
She is heading the wrong way!
Look at her, red in the gills.
Wouldn’t it be easier
to go with the flow?
It would. But she does not give up
nor does she answer,
for there is oxygen only
to follow what she knows to be
right for her: the scent of her birth,
a wild memory
of what it means
to be alive.
Came here after reading Judy’s story. It’s smiling and weeping time now. Lovely to have your words accompany the feeling. To swimming upstream!
I'm here now too,,,,reading about Judy. XOXO