Last September, you taught me how
to identify yellow birch trees by tasting
the bark. I had no idea it would be so sweet
& wintergreen, or that the strips would curl
like paper ribbon in our hands. We jumped
in zig-zags, aiming for unmuddied spots on the trail
to keep our boots dry. We hopped on the river
rocks & eventually, we leapt over moose
tracks that you could tell were fresh.
For a moment I was afraid, imagining
what something so alive & wild could do.
One kick to the chest would leave our lungs
broken like twigs bent too far. We looked at each other,
your doe eyes an amber wonder in the sun. It’s okay. Stay
close to me, you said, because you knew I was skipping to a
nightmare
scenario. I stepped closer to you. The wind whispered to the aspens
& their golden leaves trembled. Still, they trusted their branches,
believed
in their leafstalk. I like to think they were cheering for us
in their own quiet language, as if to say, Keep going,
there are creatures adorned with velvet
bones so beautiful they could take
your breath away
