by Sara Aranda
The lone bison grazes
in a field of yellow tones
dark trees surround his meadow
and the sun is settling down
beyond the mountains and thermal flats
that glow cyan, green, and orange.
Plumes of steam rise into the ether
and boiled water bubbles from the ground
the smell of sulfur stings your eyes and lungs
burns your skin, bellows loud
like beasts in anger
the geysers splash their rage unto the soil.
And by the morning
the elk have lightly tread
and the frost has spread across this table
from which we cook a fitting breakfast of eggs.
Down jackets, hats, and gloves
we huddle to the elk’s grazing song
wonder about the bison
and his coat of perfect bronze.
[Inspired by Yellowstone National Park]