Outside 

by Erica Hu

Outside my window was a yard

of broken tarps atop Fords rusting.

Untamed weeds bespeckled the field.

From the telephone wires overhead, 

Blue jays sang.

How amazing ––

if you let it,

life just grows feral.

-

Sunlight spilled over my groggy sheets.

A squirrel on the windowsill woke me

with a chewing crunch –– woodland tinkering. 

In wonder, I gazed as she glanced my way,

hugging the nut in her cheeks.

Moments later,

there was only the nut ––

a token of presence.

-

Late August,

guitar strumming,

I heard it all from our tent ––

folklores from the Great Lakes,

where the water folds into ripples so infinite

it could be the ocean.

The waves kiss the sandy shore.

Gently,

everything crumbles at our feet.