By Manuela Arundel, Gorham
The loon calls out from a distance
I am here. Where are you?
Yesterday a herd of seven deer came to our cabin
to eat strawberries out of our hands—
their noses warm and wet in the early fall dusk,
their eyes big as cows, their fur rough as unkempt dogs.
I told my husband I could live here
miles and miles away from friends, family,
the closest store. Leave me here
with the wild things
to look over the mountains and the deep water.
What else is there to do in this world?
You know the world will go on without me. Leave me out
of the many ways it is so simply falling apart.
Let it pass through my incapable hands.
Tomorrow you will find me here
under a rising moon—
bird houses swinging with the wind,
the loon waiting for an answer.
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