Rolling In Coyote

detail of ceramic sculpture

My dog, Olivia has moments

Of shunning domestication, altogether.

We’ll be on our morning outing;

My wheelchair bedecked with orange safety flag, orange scarf tied behind and me wrapped in an elegant

And orange

Paisley shawl

In order to avoid death-on-the-dirt-road.

You see, where I live is fairly rural.

Wild enough to host a few brave, non-human critters.

(I did see an elk with a macho- looking rack one year..)

In the cover of night

Coyotes stalk their prey

And yip frenetically

As they chew someone’s beloved cat..

I know… It isn’t fair.

But it IS..

When Olivia comes across

An olafactory motherlode

Some satisfied coyote has left behind

In the dirt,

She rolls…

She rolls in utter ecstasy and slight bewilderment.

There is a haunting recognition afoot

Of a genetic link

Between the two.

She WANTS that wildness!

Witnessing this always makes me laugh.

It also has me wonder where I left my own.

Wildness, that is.

Where is that girl?

I have been too busy doing the work

Of keeping myself upright;

Mentally, physically and spiritually,

And I’ve all but forgotten the wild girl.

I miss her.

I have become far too domesticated.

And left that lifeline to ‘other’ unattended too long.

My very physical life as an artist making stuff

Helped me connect to that place.

Now my right hand lies curled awkwardly in my lap.

‘On hold’ as I think of it

Because I can’t bear the thought

My strong and capable limb

Got the ultimate pink slip.

And so.. I see Olivia roll

And my chuckling has a tinge of regret

Amidst the overt pleasure of seeing her so happy.

I roll on in my power chair;

(Is this to be the extent of my own rolling??)

With wantonness

In my chest.

And I just let it be there

Instead of leaving it

By the side of the road.


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