Saints of the Frigid North - Butch Gerbrandt

[Lawrence Robinson]

Saints of the Frigid North		

Jesus agonizes on the rugged cross
at the Shrine of St. Therese,
Inland Passage, 58th parallel, Alaska.
The seven stations
vividly depict the suffering
for the sins of the world
or the penalty 
for upsetting the local power structure.

But a furlong away up Shrine Creek
another world of sacrifice
sullies the waters.
A thousand Kelt
have struggled up the shallow rivulet
to insure the survival
of salmonkind.
This is not Salmon Central.
This is an obscure streamlet
a mere two miles long
lost in the vastness of the North.
But the thousand sockeye
who now float belly up
called Shrine Creek their hatchling home.

For two weeks
they have followed an internal light,
a homing signal,
spurning food or rest,
relentlessly pushing towards that frigid shore.
A burning excitement
invigorates the failing muscles
as they unerringly
thrash up the final reach.
The water is now only inches deep between pools.
Many surrender to exhaustion.
Bears excise a deadly tax.
But the fittest females 
reach the perfect spawning pool 
and release their fertile cargo.
The most valiant males 
scatter sperm above the nest,
then, their duty done, 
succumb to starvation.



Therese of Lisieux 
may have lived the holiest of lives
in the cloisters of Carmel.
Some claim the Christ child
fomented a fighting chance 
for the souls of humankind.
But my call for canonization
nominates a million scaled saints 
who, at the apex of their lives,
abandon the bounties of the deep blue sea
to suffer up Shrine Creek
and a thousand parallel reproductive paths,
investing life itself
in the desperate drive to assure 
continuance of the species.

	- Butch Gerbrandt

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