One day shucked off my city-worn suit and black
lace-ups, stole into the desert naked of the world.
Vowed to walk father than memories could follow.
Trouble was the past wheeled about me like shadows
of vultures. Then I wandered into him, this handsome
coyote of bright yellow eyes on a rock throne, pelt
singing with arrays of rufous. He dropped buttons
of some dried root at my weary feet, so I climbed
up beside him, and while we chewed on this dry
whiskey, my shoulder leaned into his, the sun bowed
to us, and we watched its yolk run through the cupped
hands of darkness. Before long the coyote dipped
his head over the horizon, flipped the moon skyward
with his long snout, and looked back at me
with a wayward grin. I knew what to do then and
snatched the black tip of his tail as he leapt through
the keyhole of night, loping across the twinkling
plane. Me astride his back now, clutched his withers,
we arced over gold-dust pinwheels, embers of God
particles around us like curious fireflies. We watched
meteors shower a frozen star till it bloomed prismatic, and
at last the chirping memories in my head became startled
crickets, struck dumb at the nearing of something immense.
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Chris J. Bahnsen‘s work has been featured in Smithsonian’s Air & Space, Hobart, Juked, The Main Review, Hippocampus, and elsewhere. Additionally, his short story “Octagon Girl” appears in Palm Springs Noir, a recent anthology from Akashic Books. His short story “Sign Followers” can be found in If I Die Before I Wake Volume 3: Tales of Deadly Women and Retribution, an anthology from Sinister Smile Press, which was nominated for a Splatterpunk award. He divides his time between Southern California and Northwest Ohio. |