we carried her poetry in an old lunch box

metal, with a broken clasp

so we tied it shut with an orange bandanna

and put a sunflower in the knot

there was a faded picture of Kermit the Frog on the outside


I led,

we took turns carrying the lunch box

as we maneuvered the boardwalk of Yellowstone Park

the stench of sulfur crept into our clothes

we knew we’d take the stench home with us,

she followed behind


in her wheelchair

the eagle floated the stretch of the river beside us

while she floated, using those electronic controls that respond to her lips, her breath

steering her own way on the boardwalk

content to follow behind, mostly so I didn’t hover

free to glance


at whatever caught her inner eye

selecting images and collecting words along the way

so that when we arrived at the end of the boardwalk

at that big deck in the mountain meadow

where moose wander by

I would open the lunch box

drop the sunflower and forget it there

pull out a new piece of paper

she asked me to use the purple pen

and scribe her words


if I could choose one

to walk or fly, I’d choose to

give eagle a ride


she titled the poem “home”





2 thoughts on “home

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