by Eli Skipp
Elke is watching someone who has climbed to a
small peak in her enclave. She is below them,
hidden amongst the chaparral and lying belly-flat
in the gravel and tiny stones, with yearning
in her chest.
The person stands atop a plinth in the center
of the peak and cups her hands around her
mouth and howls long and false and unencumbered,
and in the dark with the city-lights in the
distance all of the coyotes call back, first
one, then another, then the multitude.
Hundreds of coyotes.
And when they are done howling,
they start laughing.
Posted on 11/26/2013
Copyright © 2022 Eli Skipp