Image for post
Image for post
Photo by MELINDA ORR on Unsplash

The bison is back in my mirror,
white hairs tangling black eyes, a scar on

lip and leg; an alertness earned with age,
but a wide-eyed waiting that evolved from

experiences left in the trampled
earth. He still travels in a herd, but it’s

smaller these days, hunted to extinction
by crisscross roads that bring new dynasties

of wolves, and windmills, and barbed wire fences
to the slanted open plains. Another

exhale in the soft cold morning; blurring
vision and warming the nose, as horns drop

and a slow walk down the path continues —
for the remaining day and into night.

© Trapper Markelz 2020

If you enjoyed this poem, please consider reading:

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store