I would like to be still
and know simple things,
like your eyes, feel
the breeze, warm

water, the hem of your blouse
on my wrist, without telling a story,
but I remember when you met me
in the belly of the big fish

cannery that summer
in Uganik Bay. You pressed
my wet hand against your belly,
and staring into my eyes, yours
glittering like the salmon

scales covering the floor,
said, “It’s a girl.”
I thought nothing,

seeing only the future
in you, while my fears, like those
scales on the floor, fell shimmering.
I am still

uncertain as to what constitutes
a vignette, but it sounds
like a beautiful name
for a daughter.