I hear a low growl.
I freeze, crouched halfway in
halfway out of the door.
A pack of dogs.
Different breeds and sizes
including a German shepherd
a boxer, and several mutts.
One looks like a wolf, but
there are no wolves in Colorado
are there? Could it be a coyote?
Several wear collars.
The German shepherd
bares his teeth.
Growls. Takes a few steps
toward me.
I stay frozen.
My sharp hiking pole
is in the bike trailer.
The other dogs advance.
If I move too quickly
I will cut myself
on the shards of glass
around the broken door.
Even back inside
there is nothing
to prevent the dogs
from coming in after me.
I need an advantage.
Buy some time.
On the floor to my left
is a gumball machine
under a wall-mounted
fire extinguisher.
On the sales counter
is a display of key rings
a March of Dimes donation jar
and a case of beef jerky.
I shift my weight
to avoid the broken glass.
Pull myself back into the store.
Open the case of beef jerky.
Grab fistfuls of dried meat.
The dogs bark, break into a run.
I squat back down.
Throw pieces of jerky as far
as I can out the door.
The first dog devours
one of the pieces.
Sniffs the ground for others.
The pack fights over the jerky
and I throw out more.
While they are distracted
I grab the fire extinguisher.
Pull out the pin.
Squat down again and crawl
through the broken door.
Drag the fire extinguisher with me.
The shepherd sees me.
Turns aggressively. Growls.
I shout and aim the nozzle.
Squeeze the handle
as hard as I can.
White foam explodes
over fur and teeth.
The dogs yelp and yowl
when the chemical hits their eyes.
The shepherd whimpers
and runs off
leading the others away.
I drop the fire extinguisher and
sprint to my bike.
Mount as fast as I can and ride
in the opposite direction.
Much harder work now because
the trailer is full of supplies
but I pick up speed.
Soon I am out on the highway
shifting and pedaling
with all my strength.
Getaway
I ride several miles before
my chest stops pounding and
my breathing evens out.
I can’t stop looking back
but the dogs are nowhere
to be seen.
After much time and distance
I slow down.
Fall to my hands and knees
on the side of the road.
Throw up twice.
Those dogs could have killed me.
I am so damned lucky.
They could have found me
out in the open with no
means of defense.
Even with my hiking pole, I doubt
I could have survived a pack
of aggressive, hungry dogs.
I find a fresh bottle of water.
Rinse my mouth.
My legs shake so badly
I sink back down and stay
on the ground
sipping my water and
gathering what’s left
of my wits.
Equus
I pedal south toward Millerville
riding to beat the sunset.
The highway unfurls like a striped ribbon.
A dust cloud rises up over the knoll.
I coast to a stop on the shoulder.
The ground trembles. Rumbles.
A herd of horses gallops up onto the ridge.
They move as one equine body like
starlings in a murmuration.
I stand astounded.
Afraid.
Amazed.
They veer west and are gone over the hill
and into the distance, leaving me
straddling my bike in dusty silence.
My fatigued legs find new strength
and I giddyup toward home.
Desolation
(n.) deprivation of companionship; emptiness; sorrow; woe
Homebody
Spring wipes
her muddy boots
on the mat and
settles in to stay.
Everything blooms.
Geese migrate north
and we migrate
back to Mom’s house.
No more long-distance
treks. No more exploring
without George.
Staying put.
Staying home.
Early Morning
reach back toward sleep
fleeting images of dream
my mother’s face
safety. comfort.
images recede
chest constricts
arms wrap around ribs
ribs wrap around hollowness
ignore grief
hope dream returns
fingers of sunshine stretch
over the eastern horizon
touch tops of trees
squirrels scamper
up slender aspens
leap onto roof
tumble and chatter
across shingles
George shoves open the door and
nudges his nose under my grumpy elbow.
“Stop it, George. Go away. I’m sleeping.”
He puts his head on the
edge of the bed. Pushes
his big square brow
against my shoulder
and whimpers.
I groan.
“Why do you have to be so pushy?”
He rolls his brown eyes up toward mine.
Wags his little tail.
Sigh.
I stand on the back porch
in my pajamas.
George explores the yard
sniffs around bushes and
occasionally lifts his nose
to smell the air.
A V of Canada geese flies
overhead, honking.
I shade my eyes
watch their descent
toward the lake.
One at a time they stop
flapping their wings until
they are gliding
banking in formation
circling below the treetops
out of sight.
I remember my dream
the palpable mother connection
I wonder if geese
feel connected
in harmony
as they fly.
Is the feeling of being connected to another creature
a universal feeling across species?
Is that love?
Picnic
I need to CHEER UP.
Even George thinks so.
I pack a lunch and
grab my hiking pole.
At the last minute
I shove the gun in my bag.
The next time
I meet a pack of hungry dogs
I want a better weapon
than beef jerky.
We walk neighborhoods
west of the lake
past the supermarket
<
br /> down the bike path
toward the creek.
George alternates between
running ahead and
trotting along in step
with me.
My heart rate increases.
My spirits lift.
The path leads us away
from neighborhoods until
we are walking along
the banks of the creek.
Mature cottonwoods
shade the trail.
Damselflies flash
bright blue and iridescent
in the dusty sunlight.
A bull snake slides out
from under a shrub
stretches across the path
slinks off into the grasses
on the other side.
I make George sit and stay
until the snake is gone.
Dad taught me which snakes
are dangerous.
I feel lucky whenever
one crosses my path.
I miss Dad.
The creek does a sparkle dance.
A robin flits back and forth
to her nestlings, mouths
open and ravenous.
A great blue heron stands stock still
on the far bank, plumed head
poised like a statue, waiting
for unsuspecting fish.
Three turtles sun themselves
on a partially submerged log.
A dragonfly buzzes
the surface of the pools
in the shallows near the shore.
We bushwhack down
to the creek bank.
Exhale a long, deep breath.
George arches his back.
Settles down, nose twitching.
We eat our lunch and
watch the creek
tumble over itself.
I remind George not to drink
and pour him some water.
I scratch the spot between
his ears and he closes his eyes
rolling over to offer his belly.
I stretch out, lean on him
and watch the clouds wander
across the sky.
“What does it all mean, George?”
George picks up his head.
I put a piece of grass between my thumbs.
Whistle.
“Is there something I’m supposed to be doing that I’m not?
Is it my fault we haven’t been rescued yet?”
Really Truly
I am not particularly religious.
Never given much thought
to whether God exists let alone
whether God pays any attention
to my little life.
Lying on my back
in this beautiful place
surrounded by
so many wild birds and animals
I’m trying to really truly
understand
how alone we are.
This day.
Like a million other days I lived
Before Evacuation.
Like any minute a cyclist will come
riding around the bend.
Or a pair of runners will jog right on by.
The animals around me
are living their lives
just as they always have.
Nothing has changed for them.
Do I look as natural to them
as they do to me?
We’re all just trying to survive.
Does that make me wild?
Can one lone girl be a civilization
all by herself?
Two whole years and
I haven’t seen another person
since the looters left town.
Is there really no other human being
for hundreds of miles?
Or thousands?
How long can this last?
What would I be doing right now
at this very moment
if the evacuation
had never happened?
a freshman in high school
maybe taking honors classes
studying for final exams
shopping for a dress to wear to a dance
kissing someone for the first time
maybe
or
playing on the soccer team
scoring the winning goal
state championship match
being lifted onto teammates’ shoulders
paraded across the pitch in victory
my whole family cheering
jumping with pride.
I reach into my pocket.
My brother’s book report.
“But there’s another thing that makes her the Challenge Girl.
She has to be alone on the island for 18 years!!!”
Eighteen. Years.
E.I.G.H.T.E.E.N. Y.E.A.R.S.
Am I capable
of surviving alone
for eighteen years?
Trevor would be out of high school by then.
The twins would be in their twenties.
I would be thirty!
Even if
our food and supplies
could last that long
is it possible
so much time could pass
before people return?
possible?
maybe.
conceivable?
no.
Surely the government
wouldn’t need that much time
to address whatever imminent threat
caused the evacuation.
George is at least six or seven.
How long do rottweilers live?
The thought of life
without him
is unfathomable.
Everything Is Still
We follow the creek path west
twisting and turning with the water
until unfolding
across a footbridge.
A hawk soars on air currents.
A prairie dog chirps an urgent warning.
We trek up and over a hill
down past the cemetery
to the fork at the road
that leads to Lewistown,
the little neighboring town.
We walk along the shoulder
of the road but soon
realize our foolishness and
walk right down the center
on the double yellow line.
“Imagine, George.
We’re part of the Rose Parade
and this line is the parade route.
We have to follow it exactly
until we get to the very end, but
be careful not to step in horse manure.
Think of what those marching
band members have to walk through
when they follow the horses every year.
Kind of hard to march and play a tuba
while watching for horse turds
at the same time.”
George prances beside me
glancing up
wagging his stumpy tail.
A few more miles and the yellow line
leads us to the intersection
of the cemetery road
and Lewistown’s main street.
South toward the baseball diamond
nothing moves.
North toward the businesses
everything is still.
“Come on, buddy. Let’s see what’s happening.”
Lewistown
the French bakery
the guitar shop
the outdoor ice-skating rink
I learned to skate there as a little girl
holding Dad’s hands.
Clinging to his legs when
the evening train rushed by
on the tracks east of the rink.
I conjure the hot, sweet scent of kettle corn.
The weight of heavy, wet mittens.
Across
the street is the carousel.
Endangered tigers, elephants
sea turtles, arctic wolves.
I circumnavigate the platform
from animal to animal.
George picks his way along
the planks of the floor behind me.
I climb into an old-fashioned sleigh
pulled by two polar bears.
George sniffs the giant panda nearby
then settles on the floor at my feet.
sounds of calliope music
young mothers and fathers lifting tiny
children onto the animals’ backs
laughing when the carousel jolts to life
I will the wooden slats in the ceiling to rotate
slowly at first then faster
until I get dizzy and close my eyes.
carousel picks up speed
everything pulls slightly toward center
world whirls
animals come alive
music grows louder, dissonant
animals growl and snort
carousel twists and dips
drops hard and fast
jerks me awake
Twilight is fading.
The railroad tracks gleam
in the light of the rising moon.
Nearby, a cricket sings.
George lifts his head and cocks his dark ears.
My head still swirls, but the earth
at least, is still.
My muscles remember the pack of dogs
and my senses tune to threat.
I step down from the carousel.
George stands and stretches.
Jumps down after me.
Everything is quiet.
Darkness settles around us.
Even the cricket is still.
“Well, Georgie, we better head home
while we have the moonlight.
I’m sorry I kept us out so long.”
George dances a circle and falls into step.
I climb the embankment to the railroad tracks.
We walk in silence watching the moon rise
timing our strides to the span of the railroad ties.
Bats dart and dodge high above our heads.
A great horned owl hoots.
Its mate answers in the distance.
Gravel crunches beneath our feet.
We turn off the tracks and
head toward the path.
Ten more minutes and we are back again
in our own neighborhood
heading for home.
Summer
Oppressive heat.
We sleep in
the basement
to stay cool.
Leave windows
wide open.
Hope for breeze.
The sun pounds
the town.
We stay inside
subterranean, like
prairie dogs in
our underground den.
Worries
Since the tornado, I’m terrified
of getting sick or hurt.
I remember the pantry
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