by Susan L. Pollet
The Escort
Coyote crosses the yard. Drinks at the bird bath. Disappears into dry grass, mesquite, cat claw beyond the brush pile where I’ll toss my wedding bouquet.
That day, when the flowers arrived, I startled: That’s gorgeous. Who is it for? A second later realizing it was mine. An armful of lush life, floral sumptuousness, bound with yellow ribbon. For me, to have and to hold. Like the husband; handsome, fulsome. Like the marriage; dying the moment it was made.
I unwind the ribbon, butter-soft and bright. Untwist the wire. Toss over my shoulder, like salt, brown stems, gray leaves, desiccated petals.
Next morning, coyote crosses the yard, trots in beauty, before me, as I walk up the street. Fur tawny-thick, tail bushing, mouth sly. Squats. Unloads. Glances back, goldening my eye with mirth, as our laughter rings the desert mountains: Just let it all go.
Camille LeFevre writes poetry and creative nonfiction. Her essay, “Body Topography,” published in The Dodge, was nominated for Best American Nature Writing and Best American Essays. Her work also appears in wildscape.literary, Hydration, Metphrastic, Fugue, Unleash Lit, Electric Lit, Brevity Blog, Bridge Eight, and The Ekphrastic Review. She teaches arts writing at the Institute of American Indian Arts in Santa Fe. She lives on the unceded lands of the Hisatsinom, Yavapai, and Apache in Northern Arizona.
Susan L. Pollet is a visual artist whose works have appeared in multiple art shows and literary publications. She studied at the New York Art Students League, has been a member since 2018, and resides in NYC. She is also a published author in multiple genres, including three children’s books, which she both wrote and illustrated. Find her at: susanpollet.com , X (@susan_pollet), Instagram (@suepol1976), LinkedIn (SusanPollet), Bluesky (suepol.bsky.social) and Threads(suepol1976).