at whitehorse,

it is easy, past the beach chic crafters the niche custom
grown veggies raised and butchered meat past the vendors
the leggings that cost too much the handmade dresses bohemian
the seafood that once you look isn’t actually local the honey the lavender

the candles the vegan scrub it is easy bc the kick in my chest is the first physical
motive to move my body since the last time i swam which has been weeks and it
moves me towards market then past moves me finally to go so i take my daughter
in her stroller past the bodies the commerce to the path too thickly covered with brown
yellow leaves actually to be able to see we take it by heart by body by earth by hint by scent
all the way to the water through the now bare trees and as soon as we get there our shoes are off
and feet dangle hers all a splash off
the edge of the far pier

i have been going here for years since my birth we go in june still the third week to the pavilion with dad’s
cousins used to be his uncle’s aunt’s now cousin’s kids and kid’s of kids and the time my grandmother
senile and mostly gone in the head with the tumor and also depression which no one ever then could
name aloud drove her car through the trees dodging root systems at their base splayed bumpy nobby
across the top of the forest floor grinding when she hit them dodging shrieking kids and cousins
adults running at us after us me the oldest teen clutching my chest in laughter delight sitting
next to her in the passenger’s seat never before or since nerves so shocked the glee like that
that stings

the first time i saw a wild animal was fox the time of year the path was ripe with scent of honeysuckle
and incoming salt and it had been about 12 months at that point since i had had a drink of alcohol
the people at the meetings told me it’s a mind body and spirit disease which was it i worked
stripping down to athletic bra and bike shorts to go to the woods near the river by the back
bay come upon fox on the path so close single strand by single strand of quivery brown
orange spokes of fur caught light i moved near to them as possible so close motionless
there they paused edge of green briar brown twig bundle den nothing between us them
sniffing river pine air my skin fox fur fox never saw me at all to this day the wonder

of that the easiness me
my child

we make
our way
back to
path too thickly covered to even be able to see

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