He is lonely like Adam with every rib. He does what he’s always done. He grabs his rifle and his hat to escape into the forest, the mountain spines, the only woman who will have him. Nature takes him back into her womb with a sigh of summer air; humid and thick with mosquito clouds. He searches diaries of mud and paw prints to escape his singularity. By the salmon-stinking river his feet stumble into water and his heart into joy. Steady now against the empty bed, the vacant sweaters, the spaces he can't bear to fill; the rifle butt kisses his shoulder as she used to. The old grizzly looks up just in time to hear the bullet song penetrate her skull. He touches the mountain of her withers and is alone again. Then he notices.
He cries with the two cubs.
Megan Perra
megan.perra@gmail.com
Wildwood
Colin Meloy