We were braided, beribboned girls, selling mints, collecting
badges. We slept with our mouths trustingly open.
In such haloed light, we were possessed by animal spirits no
more terrifying than rabbits, unicorns. Our lives folded
easily into knapsacks. We Kumbaya’d around the lit logs.
How splendid the fire, how benign the darkening sky.
Now at night, I grab my beloved’s hand on waking. Briefly,
shadows of coyotes and elk bolt in terror across the wall.
Trish Saunders divides her time between Seattle and Honolulu and, in her imagination, in Yosemite National Park. Her poems are published or forthcoming in Right Hand Pointing, Blast Furnace Press, Eunoia, Pacific Poetry Review, and many other online and print publications.