We don’t appreciate how often we get lucky
A poem by Joe Cottonwood

We don’t appreciate how often we get lucky

She who loves the enormous wild
returns from Alaska and tells me
she hiked alone, not wise. 
Nibbled a snack, needed. 
Saw a bear, a black boulder with legs,
browsing berries. 

She froze—looking for nearest exit 
in deep forest. Bear, tongue and slobber 
bouncing, ran toward her—amazing 
how fast such fat can move—and 
stopped on a dime.

Stinky bear—ever smelled one 
up close?—sat at her feet looking up
at the beef jerky in her hand.

Inside the wild is the soul of a dog
with bigger paws and teeth.
Begging for jerky.

About the Author:

Joe Cottonwood has repaired hundreds of houses to support his writing habit in the Santa Cruz Mountains of California. His latest books of poetry are Foggy Dog and Random Saints. He can be found on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/JoeCottonwood. His website is http://joecottonwood.com

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