Poetry/Creative non-fiction/fiction

Out West July 30, 2011

Filed under: Poetry — jessicacolleenmcdermott @ 12:33 pm
Tags: , , ,
I miss the roads out west, where jagged
mountains run into sage brush, and lanky
coyote fur shoots up in a howl at an untamed
moon. So round and so clear I could reach up,
pull it down, and squeeze it until I fall asleep,
then wake up in my bed- alone, with the west’s 
violins of cricket legs and raw air that sews
hope like a thread into my heart, and I feel like
a balloon, ready to burst, because everything is
so real and so close that maybe one day
I will be the mosquitoes humming by the
Snake River or the huckleberries budding
past Heise, where the canyon’s hot springs pour
warmth onto sleepy grizzly moms and their cubs.
I will be the grandmother grinning with the sun
as it rises above the Grand Tetons, filling
the valley with a haze of orange light. I will be
the west: the fields of barley and wheat, the
small towns, the glacier lakes, the winter frost,
the farmer’s tanned arms, the rattle of a snake,
the creek beds and aspen trees. A wisp of wind,
 a rainbow trout, a farm cat hiding kittens in stale
hay, a girl, a woman, a mother, a glimpse of light,
a swivel of  life placed on a hinge facing west.