You have the right
to pause for breath,
to exhale road noise
and inhale green flickers.
You have the right
to unsee the signs
lining the park road.
To collaborate with
the glaciers’ beautiful wear.
You have the right to stop
to take pictures
of turtles studding
a punk log’s moss jacket.
To be a body
camera. To capture harmless
cottontail and cattail.
To wave mosquitos on,
to let them off with a warning.
Dragonfly delighted, gnat knotted,
take a witness statement from lightning
bugs intent on illuminating
your skin with their flight.
You have the right to lovefind, too.
To island. To sink
into a place outlined with white
herons. A place which leaves few clues.
Question sandhill cranes.
Pelicans. Plea for one more minute.
This place will be taken down.
Anything you say and do will be used.
Say anything about the fawn darting
into the darkness. Say the clearing silent.
Enter into a court of awe.
—
Sarah Ann Winn’s first book, Alma Almanac won the Barrow Street Book Prize, judged by Elaine Equi. She is also the author of five chapbooks, most recently, Ever After the End Matter. Her writing has appeared in Five Points, Massachusetts Review, Nashville Review, Quarterly West, Smartish Pace, and elsewhere. She’s the founder of Poet Camp, a creative community where she leads online classes, jumpstarts and cozy writing retreats. Find her at http://poetcamp.com.
