Watercolor on Paper, 2023.
Size: 8 in. X 10 in.
“For the Salmon” was inspired by the poem “Biological Control Task” by Taneim Bambrick.
Biological Control Task
Taneim Bambrick
Jim & I were taking lunch, sharing a crumpled
bag of goldfish below the dam
when we met Bill & Mike.
They rolled down a window, pulled up
next to our truck & strained
their necks—looking over me
—to introduce themselves to Jim.
They have the same face when I remember them.
Two guns propped between seats,
smell from the old engine.
Tarp over a load in the bed.
What’ve you got? Jim asked.
They stepped out, undid a rope.
Something soft hit
dirt on the opposite side of the truck.
You might not wanna look. Bill glanced at me,
slid the tarp off. The mound there
was grey & white at first I thought
dirty laundry.
At least eighty seagulls just dead,
ropes of blood at the chests. Shot so
their shoulders folded apart
like wet book covers.
To protect salmon.
Doesn’t make sense, but it’s not bad
getting paid to hunt.
Mike motioned to a trash bag on the pile.
Show them our girl.
Bill drew it down, ripped the knot, lifted
an adult heron with a hole blown
out the chest.
He held both webbed feet.
You could look through her body.
We found her in the road. Hit
by a hatchery cannon.
The bird seemed frozen,
wrongly intact—gold eyes cranked
open, neck coiled tight over her slaty back.
When I cried it made them comfortable like I could be
a daughter, wife or something they knew how to see.
Hands on my back.
What’s the matter, Mike asked. Didn’t you care
about the gulls or were they too ugly?
Would you like this piece framed? Select your options at checkout or email me at hi@baileyconstas.com. If not framed, will ship in a padded envelope. If framed, will ship in a box and you will be send an I voice for framing fees.
Watercolor on Paper, 2023.
Size: 8 in. X 10 in.
“For the Salmon” was inspired by the poem “Biological Control Task” by Taneim Bambrick.
Biological Control Task
Taneim Bambrick
Jim & I were taking lunch, sharing a crumpled
bag of goldfish below the dam
when we met Bill & Mike.
They rolled down a window, pulled up
next to our truck & strained
their necks—looking over me
—to introduce themselves to Jim.
They have the same face when I remember them.
Two guns propped between seats,
smell from the old engine.
Tarp over a load in the bed.
What’ve you got? Jim asked.
They stepped out, undid a rope.
Something soft hit
dirt on the opposite side of the truck.
You might not wanna look. Bill glanced at me,
slid the tarp off. The mound there
was grey & white at first I thought
dirty laundry.
At least eighty seagulls just dead,
ropes of blood at the chests. Shot so
their shoulders folded apart
like wet book covers.
To protect salmon.
Doesn’t make sense, but it’s not bad
getting paid to hunt.
Mike motioned to a trash bag on the pile.
Show them our girl.
Bill drew it down, ripped the knot, lifted
an adult heron with a hole blown
out the chest.
He held both webbed feet.
You could look through her body.
We found her in the road. Hit
by a hatchery cannon.
The bird seemed frozen,
wrongly intact—gold eyes cranked
open, neck coiled tight over her slaty back.
When I cried it made them comfortable like I could be
a daughter, wife or something they knew how to see.
Hands on my back.
What’s the matter, Mike asked. Didn’t you care
about the gulls or were they too ugly?
Would you like this piece framed? Select your options at checkout or email me at hi@baileyconstas.com. If not framed, will ship in a padded envelope. If framed, will ship in a box and you will be send an I voice for framing fees.
