Transmission №3
Camping in the Hoosier National Forest, Early Spring
Five springs ago was the last
moment in March when ash-blue
snow melted in my hands
before I could roll a snowball.
It was too early for the singing
birds to be so far north,
and the only thing I heard
was your ice-cracking laugh
when you caught me
pissing your steaming name
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤinto a grey
mountain of snow piled
over the empty
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤpulp-soft carcass
of a centuries-old dead oak.
Do you remember how I got
frostbite putting our tent up
in the freezing rain —
and my socks were soaked,
and how I nearly
burnt my gloves on the stove
making coffee in the morning?
It was worth it to hear you say,
“Fuck! It looks like I forgot
to pack my sleeping bag, but
I’ll be fine sleeping in the cold.”
Like this? You can read my short story, “March Madness,” at the link below.
