what it feels like to return

shaky-voiced coyote howling in the day’s
pre-sun light
at the time of orange horizon flaring
against deep blue sky
_______
how we laugh through/across language
baigz, trish, bessie and i
first, through a couple rounds of oldmaid
and then through the game of
drawing each other’s faces
while not looking at the paper
that we move our markers across
_______
five orange slices packed in baggie
tucked into backpack
how the cells and their juice burst as i bite into
one by one on the meandering
sheepherding way home
_______
like twins but not twins i say
as we make our way
across the scrublands
following hoofmarks
_______
small rabbit (baby jack)
and gray beelining
who must have been there
for a while as i leaned into the edge
of the arroyo
_______
what it feels like to return i say
when asked what i’m taking with me
and sheep poop is one of the things i say
i’m leaving behind
_______
apple struessel cake baked on stovetop
in cast iron
sliced into gloriously large wedges
and plopped onto our plastic plates
you’ve done it again i tell trish
in her place next to me
at the table
_______
baigz’s club beats and club dancing
with the sheep to get them
to move along while i
whoop whoop!
_______
trish’s purple duct tape
slapped onto silver camera
to hold battery compartment closed

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