been left behind or forgotten.
Take the chance.
Venture out.
Seek help.
If only
I could be sure
there was someone
out there to find.
And the person won’t be
a dangerous criminal
or a psycho kitten killer.
If only
I could be sure
I would survive.
Then Again
I’ve been across eastern
Colorado and Kansas
and there is nothing but miles
and miles of farmland.
What if the car runs out of gas
in the middle of nowhere?
And even if
I could get to a farmhouse
it would likely be
abandoned with limited
supplies of canned foods
and no bottled water.
I would starve if I didn’t
freeze to death first.
And even if
I didn’t run out of food
or gas what if I surprised
more looters?
Or came upon
the ever-so-mysterious
and oh-so-dangerous
threat to national security
that caused the evacuation
in the first place?
First Best Chance
Staying put is my first best chance
of being found and rescued.
The risks if I leave are too great.
When frightening thoughts creep in
I will force them aside and visualize
my parents coming to find me.
I picture them driving in cars or flying in planes.
I imagine them coming on foot or on horseback.
I sometimes even imagine them flying across
the prairie in a Star Wars landspeeder.
No force in the universe is strong enough
to keep them apart from me.
All George and I have to do is stay alive
and we will be found.
Winter
Overnight
the brown, wet world
transforms
into a frozen white
frostland.
I pull on my stepmother’s snow gear.
Mine has grown too small.
“Come on, George! Let’s go!”
I trample an icy path to the back shed.
Drag out my father’s snowshoes.
We stomp through the drifts.
Head up the road toward the lake park trail.
Not a single creature has disturbed
the sparkly crust of snow.
A glittery reminder of just how alone
we really are.
The only sounds we hear
are our own heavy breaths
and the whish-whish of snow pants
striding back and forth.
George bounds ahead.
Darts back.
Leaps up and down in the drifts
like the lambs that used to play
in the pasture
next to my elementary school.
I throw a snowball.
He catches it in his mouth
but it explodes on impact.
Up and on we trudge
cresting the summit of the trail
to find Miner’s Lake frozen
and twinkling before us.
On the snowy surface of the ice
tiny rabbit prints scamper
from one shore to another
despite the owls and coyotes
that hunt here.
We follow the trail circling the lake.
Stop to listen to the snowy quiet.
Breathe the sharp, cold air.
A shadow moves on the ground.
A raptor’s silhouette soars in the sky.
We hunker down to watch.
The bird circles the lake
lower and lower
until I see
white feathers on its head and tail.
Bald eagles often winter here
but I have never seen one
this close before.
The eagle catches an updraft
rises in the air
turns and glides down
lands on the ice
just a few feet from the unfrozen center.
Poses there
majestic and still.
So still in fact
I think it has fallen asleep.
My legs cramp from squatting.
Then the bird bursts open
and lifts off
clutching a fat fish
in its talons.
Wings its way up
over the treetops
out of sight.
I Can Almost Pretend
In Mom’s neighborhood
the overgrown yards
and gardens
previously wild from neglect
are neat and tidy
in their winter coats.
The houses look cozy
and comfortable
belying their frigid
empty interiors.
I can almost pretend
it’s just an ordinary
snowy morning.
The rest of Millerville
is still asleep.
The most extraordinary event all day
will be one eagle’s spectacular catch
and the premature death of
one unlucky bass.
Book Report
It feels wrong
to traipse through Mom’s house
tracking snow on the carpets
but it’s too cold to take off my boots.
I think my mother would understand.
I walk through the rooms
checking windows
are latched and locked.
Everything seems in order.
In the dining room
a piece of paper sticks out
from under the cabinet
against the wall.
Elliott’s book report on
Island of the Blue Dolphins.
KARANA THE CHALLENGE GIRL
In the book Island of the Blue Dolphins there are three possible thesises to prove which is the girl’s biggest challenge. One, is that Karana has to defend herself against wild dogs. Two, is that Karana must provide food and shelter for herself. Three, is that Karana must learn to trust a friend. Obviously the answer is two, because if she doesn’t find food and shelter she will die and then the other challenges don’t matter. This is why the answer is defiantely two. But there’s another thing that makes her the Challenge Girl. She has to be alone on the island for 18 years!!! That’s the total amount of life that my brother and I have been alive if you put our lives together and add them up. That’s a very very very very long time. I agree that of the three choices the most important challenge is the food and shelter one, but I think if I were the Challenge Girl, it would be even harder for me to be alone for all that time. I mean, she can always fish and get food and it isn’t hard because its her island already. But she has to keep herself company and give herself pep talks and if she’s sick or scared she can’t just call out to her mom to come take care of her. So I think that’s what makes her the REAL Challenge Girl and not that other stuff. But if I have to choose from one of those three only, I guess I still choose two.
Grief
my tears smear the ink and run
across the title
I blot it with my scarf
the paper blurs
Elliott was right.
I was too stupid and self-centered
to even realize it.
food and shelter are nothing
compared to the challenge of
never holding another person’s hand
never hearing another person’s voice
staying alive isn’t easy
but it’s a heck of a lot easier than
keeping my heart hopeful and
my mind focused
on what’s
real
loneliness and insanity
are twin houseguests
and
it’s hard to entertain one
without inviting the other in
as well
Regret
My mind spins with memories.
So many times I was rude
to my stepparents.
How I stiffened when Mom
tried to kiss me good night.
All the times I opted
to stay in my room
alone
sulking
rather than join Dad and Jennifer
for a movie night.
I’m ashamed.
I would give anything
just to see them
hear their voices
touch their hands.
And Elliott.
His handwriting sings
into the emptiness
of my heart.
He and James must be eleven by now.
Do they ever think of me?
“But she has to keep herself company and give herself pep talks.…”
Nine-year-old Elliott’s words float before me.
He is so smart.
I do have to give myself pep talks.
I do have to keep myself company.
Karana did it for eighteen years
and she was rescued.
When it finally happened
she wasn’t crazy with loneliness.
She was excited.
In her best dress and her jewelry
she walked proudly down
to her rescuers
taking her animals with her.
She was triumphant.
Not a victim.
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself
Madeleine Albright Harrison.”
I startle George.
He looks up from the rug where he was dozing.
“My parents didn’t name me after
the first woman secretary of state
so that I’d turn into a pathetic
pile of poo at the first sign of trouble.
I haven’t survived this long and
worked this hard only to fall apart over
a fourth-grade homework assignment.
I need to pull my sorry self together
and get out there to enjoy this
beautiful day.”
I fold Elliott’s book report and tuck it
into the pocket of my parka.
After Months of Snow
warm breeze
snow melting
trees and rooftops drip
drip drip
open windows
fresh air
buds sprout on limbs
crocus crack through icy earth
i can’t help but feel hopeful
Spring Cleaning
Out back
a cool shadow from the house
protects a wide snowbank.
I pack Jennifer’s largest cooking pot
with snow.
Set it on the wood-burning stove.
I bathe myself in hot water.
Wash my hair.
Refill the pot.
Wash my clothes.
Hang them in the warming air to dry.
I pull apart my bedding.
Shake out blankets and comforters.
Drape them along the picket fence
to breathe the fresh spring weather.
I pretend to be Laura Ingalls Wilder
in Little House on the Prairie.
Sweep the whole house.
Wipe down the surfaces.
Wash away grime and grit
from a winter of closed doors
and woodsmoke.
After a long season of hibernation
my body likes the heavy chores.
The change in the weather and
the strength in my muscles
spark new courage.
What If
What if I’ve been wrong
to think that staying put is the best option?
What if it will be years
before anyone will return to town?
What if forces beyond their control
prevent my parents from coming for me
no matter how much they might want to?
AND
What if there are people
closer than I realize?
What if there are people like me
who were left behind in Denver?
What if they are living
as close as thirty miles away?
If I can figure out a way to travel safely
with minimal risk
it can’t hurt to venture out
and explore.
Can it?
Is it worth using up the gasoline in the minivan?
Is there a way to take gas from other cars left behind?
What if I get lost?
What if I find people and they turn out to be dangerous?
What if I run into the looters?
What if there are other dangers
like wild animals
I might not be able to defend against?
What if?
What if?
What if?
Curiosity Wins
Gas is too precious to waste
on a trip that might amount to nothing.
I try other cars with neighbors’ keys.
All dead.
I don’t know how many lonely winters might lie ahead.
If I lose the use of the minivan, packing in
needed supplies will be much more difficult.
BUT
that doesn’t mean exploratory trips are off the table.
Denver’s too far to venture by bike
but Lewistown and Peakmont aren’t.
Lewistown is closer, but Peakmont is bigger.
Might have folks like me
who were left behind
OR
supplies that could be useful.
Peakmont has a hardware store.
As soon as temperatures are consistently warm enough
I’m setting out to see what I can discover.
Strength and Conditioning
I begin a daily routine by lifting Dad’s free
weights and taking long walks, then long runs
through the neighborhoods.
I ride my bike all over town, choosing routes
that take me up long, winding hills.
I gain strength and endurance and
so does spring.
By the time the forsythia boughs erupt
in their lavish yellow blossoms
and the early redbud trees bloom dark pink
I am ready to tackle a long-distance trek.
Sojourn
Pump up bike tires.
Load pump and patch kit in bike trailer.
Pack food and water.
Rain gear and first aid kit.
Feed George and shut him in the house.
The trip to Peakmont is too long and
I will be riding too fast for him to keep up.
Debate taking him along in the trailer
but that will slow me down.
Need space to bring back supplies.
Strange leaving Millerville.
Since the evacuation, I haven’t ventured
farther than the edge of town.
Since the tornado, I don’t even go that far.
Pedal north along the highway.
Exposed and vulnerable.
Four lanes stretch out
wide and straight
disappearing in a point.
A vanishing point.
I hope not for me.
A sign tells me I am thirteen miles
from my destination.
Twenty-six round trip.
Farmland lies fallow and untended.
Fields where horses and cattle used to graze
are empty. No sign of animals.
Occasionally, I pass a farmhouse.
Perfectly normal from a distance
but no laundry on the line.
No chickens in the yards.
I think of fresh eggs and milk.
Just my luck to have concert musicians
for parents instead of farmers.
I press on.
Everything is still.
Except for hawks circling the sky
I am the only movement
on the entire landscape.
Pass the Christmas tree farm
and the private school
up on the hill to the west.
Debate riding up there
to scavenge in their kitchen.
Decide to wait for the ride home
if I have the energy.
Up ahead, finally,
the first buildings of Peakmont.
The sun shines high in the sky.
Pull over in cottonwood shade.
Snack on almonds, dried apricots, water.
Ride slowly into town
watching hoping dreading
signs of life.
Business District
I park my bike.
Pull one of Dad’s hiking poles
out of the bike trailer.
Unscrew and extend until
it’s almost four feet long.
The sharp tip clicks
on the sidewalk.
If anything threatens
I want to be prepared.
I walk down Central Avenue.
Looters were here, too.
Smashed windows and
broken merchandise.
Damn.
I should have brought the gun.
I forgot about it over the long winter
and now it’s too late.
Personal belongings
flattened and discolored
by two winters of snow and mud
litter the streets.
Probably dropped or lost
in the evacuation.
For hours I ride through town
senses keen and tuned
to humans
but no whiff sight sound taste.
Hardware store on the south side.
I smash the glass front door.
Crawl in and out, loading up
with batteries and propane canisters.
That alone makes the trip worthwhile.
In the pet aisle, I miss George.
This is the longest we’ve been apart.
I stuff bags of rawhide chews
and a squeaky, plush parrot
into my backpack.
Dogs
Leaving the hardware store
Alone Page 9
