Wind-rush, sky white, harbinger of eagles,
the tree tops enter realms and disappear
without me. Is there anything safer
than a speck? I am small as horizon’s
vanishing point. Witness to my self,
diminishing. Nothing to calibrate
such unmapping, this ever-lasting lost.
Oh road trip, I am in the world for seeing.
Here was a man selling two apples
and a box of frozen venison. Here a rabbit
no one saw ushered babies into earth,
her tunneling the soft leaf-wet soil
inches from where you stood.
Here was a death and a meal.
—
Rebecca Aronson’s first book Creature, Creature won the Main-Traveled Press poetry book contest and was published in 2007. Her poems have appeared in Tin House, the Georgia Review, Cream City Review, Mas Tequila Review, Quarterly West, and others. She lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico, where she teaches writing and enjoys the mountains.
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