When Wildness is the Only Solace

A forest fire in Oregon 
     burns through miles of town; 
ash obscures the sky.
     There is nowhere left to live. 

I travel a thousand miles 
     to an ancient trailer 
gripping the foothills 
     of the Bighorn Mountains.

At first, I embrace alpenglow, 
     bear tracks, lupine, 
paintbrush, turquoise lakes. 
     Then winter descends. 

Blizzards hurl wind 
     and ice at the walls 
for months. Grief comes 
     in waves. When I sleep, 

bears, bison, and wild horses 
     gather on the edge 
of my dreams. Their steamy 
     breath keeps me alive.

After more than a year 
     of exile, despair creeps 
into my solitude. 
     Where is home? 

I finally move into the sun. 
     My thawing bones remind 
me that I know 
     what to do to survive: 

Do not carry regrets 
     or bitterness. Listen 
to aspen trees. Carve poems
     out of slate gray clouds.

Sip mist from waterfalls. 
     Inhale the scent of mint 
and sage swirling under layers 
     of wind. On the darkest nights, 

I dive into the Milky Way 
     and swim as far as I can go.





Libré Cory is a writer and teacher. She has deep roots in Oregon, but is currently living in Wyoming. The land and wildlife of both places influences her writing and survival. Her poems have recently appeared in Humana Obscura and Unbroken. Her work has previously appeared in Snowy Egret, Fireweed, and Dog River Review. Libré holds an MFA from the Rainier Writing Workshop.