14 August 2009 | Vol. 9, No. 2

Bird Creek, Alaska

by CINTHIA RITCHIE

Spruce trees smell

wicked at night

we lie in lavender

twilight we think

we are so clever with our pale

bodies and sly-tongued minds

but early morning we

fall inside bear dreams

wake to chest-steamed desire

stumble across damp ground

biting growling

we are graceless and unashamed

we mate from behind

greasy snouts whimpering

in fear and glory

we roll in cool creek mud

lick our tender assholes

wait for salmon.