letters to coyotes

a poem about the coyote that saw my soul on the bridge

when i was working on my essay, letters to the foxes, that I published yesterday, based on a mary oliver essay, it made me think of coyotes.

coyotes are my foxes. one of my best friends (@forthemarigolds on substack!!) told me that her version of foxes are wolves.

coyotes are the animals that always seem to show up for me. most are afraid or, or at least skittish around these animals. and while i acknowledge that i probably don’t want to encounter one while walking my chihuahua on a trail, they have always held both comfort and exhilaration for me.

art by Heather Kyoht Luterman (kyoht on DeviantArt)

once, on a fourth of july weekend trip to a cabin, i went on my first ever solo hike. it was beautiful. this was the period in my life where i was terrified to do anything alone, but was slowly starting to tiptoe into independence. i had certainly never gone on a hike alone.

it was beautiful.

my first stunning view was a field full of deer, none of which were afraid of me. I sat down on the grass and journaled as i watched them graze. i don’t know why, but deers always reminded me of my late grandmother.

when i eventually kept walking, i turned the corner, and i froze.

in the distance was a small creek, a red bridge, and a coyote.

it felt like i locked eyes with the coyote instantly.

it was looking at me, and i was looking at it.

we stayed that way for many moments, the exact amount, i’m not sure.

after what seemed like quite a while, the coyote just stood up and walked away.

i’m probably not describing the absolute magic the moment held for me in my soul, but please know i have never had such a transcendent moment in my life.

so, i wrote the poem below, dedicated to that moment, and is an “after poem” dedicated to “The Day Lady Died” by Frank O’Hara.

The Coyote

I sit across from the coyote in a field where the red bridge is the only thing between us and I sob and I wonder and I know that this will be the moment I will always look back on for what is a coyote if not a catalyst and what is a catalyst if not for the way your heart feels when you can remember the before and the after splitting your memory with a sweet soft line, the kind of line that you sink your teeth into or maybe it’s not a line maybe it’s a rio grande, a big river that swallows you whole that you aren’t afraid to bleed into the kind of river where you enter as a rabbit and emerge as a lion and maybe it’s the moment where I look in the mirror and see myself instead of everyone else.

photo from interest by coyote_fangz 🍋☎️, titled “coyotehearted pride”

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