Gardiner, July 23rd

by A.M. Albaugh

Mist crowns the mountains, and ravens glide toward
steaming geysers with beaks hanging open. A bison
stands in the middle of a bridge. Ants cover
the parched earth and my hands
as I deadhead columbines. The onions
need watering. Smoke from fire
replaces the mist. A coyote
chases two pronghorns, and the Sapphire Pool
erupts. A grizzly and three cubs retreat
into the shade of lodgepole pines. Geese fly
past Phantom Lake. Find water
or shade, crawl if necessary until
the pink sun makes its way west and elk
come down from the mountain to rest
in the valley. The parts society created
crumble and turn to dust. Screeching
crickets amplify the hollowness
in stomachs. Fierce stars
are wolves’ teeth sinking
into my retinas.

A.M. Albaugh is a writer and photographer. She likes to travel and her work has been published in The Festival Review, Sad Girl Diaries, PhotoVogue, and more.