Coyote

Cariann Logsdon

I see a woman in the hills 

Each slope and mound a curve of her 

Hips and thighs and breasts 

Rise and fall in the mountains 

She is immense and ever-changing 

Pockmarked where people have made their homes on her Nestled into the rolls of her gut 

She is vast and unforgiving 

Her spirit cannot be contained 

It pierces the roiling sky with 

Fingernails of sharp peaks 

Plucking down stars for midnight snacks 

Hair grown from pine trees 

Trees that run from her head 

Resting on one side of the world 

All the way down to her toes 

Brushing the other 

She does not ask permission to stretch this far She pays no mind to the howling of the wind Demanding she make herself smaller than she is She ignores the endless pounding rain 

That wishes to beat her into a more suitable shape She softens only to the rivers running through her waist She yields only to the roots encircling her ankles She surrenders only to herself 

I see a woman in the hills- and I envy her