The Coyote

February 13, 2009 § 1 Comment






Pink-grey hills frame
the city where my mother lives.
She tells me of confronting

the confident coyote who called
her wild-eyed cat from below her snow-
lined cactus balcony; she stood, arms

akimbo and stared him down.
I know the look – she has used
it on the three of us 

all our lives. Today, the stance is
gone, the coyote banished,
replaced by another

enemy. We have come to 
be her army: two of us, a sentry 
and a medic; the third will

come and then her sangha,
dangerous as the robed 
can be; they will come with chants

and flags, bouquets and
herbs, they’ll fill her home with
scents, crowding the room

so that we are the 
intruders. But at this moment,
this space in crowded corridors,

as she waits, frail and cool-
bare beneath the pencil-
striped cotton gown, necklace

of blue ribbon, she must
depend on us – her troops – although
she reluctantly is not the

general. As she is readied,
her eyes flash and glare at 
the coyote of her cancer,

the disease that has
striped her bare and forced
her into helplessness.

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§ One Response to The Coyote

  • pochp says:

    ‘the disease that has
    striped her bare and forced
    her into helplessness.’

    I know this is reality but I wish you enter the light because I know you can and because the universe is with you.

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