Gingerbread House Lit Mag

Inside a Tent You Hear Coyotes

Different this time. They are
sadder. You remember what
your husband said: Every sound
reflects your experience.

Imagine: You unzip
the mosquito net, trail your palms
against pine, snap palmettos
off bushes: giant fans

and also, warnings. You are
a giant breadcrumb tethered
behind 100 yellow eyes. Your
daughter, asleep on the backs

of spiders, dreams of your
spine folded neatly
like soft, worn muslin. She
recalls this as you break

down the tent then wait
for a howl, a revelation.
What would they tell that
you did not already know?

Chelsea Epperson

Chelsea Epperson is a writer living in Tampa, Florida, who facilitates menstrual health workshops in association with The Fifth Vital Sign.  

Artwork: “The coyote serenade on the Great Plains of North America,” Line engraving, 19th century, public domain.


This entry was published on March 31, 2018 at 12:07 am and is filed under 29 (March 2018), Archive, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.
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