October 29, 2023Maybe Lewiston
Maybe we will see Katahdin, we tell our children; maybe we will see a moose.
Pulling over at the Lewiston Travel Center,
trucks at the tagging station, hunting season just beginning.
Death like a warm meal; Death like a family reunion; Death like a game.
We always take precautions hiking,
blaze-orange hats in the back of the car.
Once a woman weeding her garden was mistaken for a deer.
Death like a stray bullet; Death like a mistake.
Inside the Circle K everyone is grabbing whoopie pies and hot slices.
My son wants a Halloween skull.
We tell him there will be plenty of time for souvenirs.
Death like a pirate; Death like a clown.
Heading north the road is empty, ambulance screaming in the other direction,
police cars, helicopter searchlight desperate circling.
What’s happening, I wonder. Someone is lost, my husband answers.
Death like a whisper; Death like a broken mirror; Death like a Passover prayer.
We are too late to see Katahdin, pass the turnoff, scenic view;
we keep right on driving. I imagine a moose
behind the dark trees, watching; a sign to stay grounded.
Death like a book gently closing; Death like a leaf softening the ground.
We find out that night. First thing in the morning,
detouring past Lewiston, I keep searching the woods for meaning:
Amber leaves a tracksuit; frost a car of interest; shadow a man with a gun;
Death in the passenger seat. Death on manhunt. Death still at large. Death on the run.
from Poets Respond