CLOSE ENCOUNTERS

The chipmunk dashes like a blown
leaf across the road, his cheeks
swollen with lunch (acorn
or apple), his tail tipped high
like a flag of truce—and just in time
I brake. Be thankful! I shout
over the shriek of tires but already
he's burrowed into brush,
leaves and pebbles scattering
in his wake as if to cry alive! alive!


A ski lift failed when I was a girl
just after I'd shoved off onto the slope,
and two broke their legs and one
died. In Spain I missed a bus that over-
turned on a mountain road—and was I
grateful? Probably not,
for I was young then, with all the time
in the world for living. Now

I'm older and I think of the loop
of fate that brought me home to you.
Like kids on their ten speed bikes
(nohands, mom! nobrakes!) we two rush head-
long into the thicket—safe
for now—and grateful—while
the grim reaper in his big black
SUV comes burning round the curve.

by Nancy Means Wright                   

© Copyright 2001- 2007, Nancy Means Wright. All rights reserved.

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