Beam

A Poem by Randie Copeland

We got lost in those woods behind the carcass of my grandma’s rusty trailer, where graves

of childhood cats marked the barrier between us and the creatures who feasted on

her beloved ivory hydrangea bushes, leaving mole heads on the front porch in

return. In the dark I heard them, coyotes howling their intentions. Hunger

was a musk hanging in the air, waiting to drop. You aimed the flashlight,

a solitary beam in a consuming backdrop. This was the kind of dark

full of possibility. Here, my flesh felt like softened butter. I clung to

you, my looming father. Your calloused fingers were warm and

your steps crossed each sneaky root, before the midnight soil

could beckon me into her cruel embrace. So while the wind

sang her chilling lullaby to withered sparrows, stealing

the last breath of a hapless fawn, you became my

anchor in those keening backwoods. For just

those minutes, your eyes did not cave

with craving for more than creation

could provide. You were the

brightest side of

the moon.