“If I had my way, the mountains
would be emptied of cougars,”
the ultrarunner said.
How bleak and sharp the will can be
when it wants to eradicate.
Trees for some are nuisances
to be felled lest
views be blocked, pollen dripped
on freshly washed cars. In Chicago
bodies of white-throated sparrows,
a migration disrupted
by glass and artificial light,
litter city pavements in the fall.
What if we let them move down
from the hills,
emerge from the undergrowth
into broad daylight —
all our wild things?
Let them press closer,
breathe on our necks.
What if we let them inside?
—
Kirsten McAteer is a poet and therapist who resides in Portland, Oregon. She is a runner, hiker, and lover of the outdoors. She holds an MFA in poetry from New York University and her work has appeared in Quartet, Tupelo Quarterly, and other journals. She is currently working on a full-length manuscript.
