Sasquatch at the End of the World

"Bigfoot Loses Heart" and "A Meditation," two poems by Mary Crockett Hill

Sasquatch at the End of the World

Bigfoot Loses Heart

When berries were scarce
I ate the chipmunk who 
ate the berries. 

When my fur made fingers of ice down my back,
I told myself stories of what it must be 
to wake inside the sun. 

When rain would not stop
I waded into the river. I sat on a boulder and spat 
where the current parted around me. 

All was as I wished it to be.  
The notes I scrawled in the mud each sunset
were happy notes. Day this. Day that. 

But now I do not know where I have put those fingers. 
Now I’ve lost the hole inside the hole.

A Meditation

The snow makes some things clear: the deer
has been up before me, as has the fox

            is what I spoke into my phone’s voice-to-text.

No Mike I’m waiting for your call: the beer
has an offer for me, as has the fuck

            is what it heard.  

I wanted to consider how snow compresses time
by showing tracks, one moment layered over the next,

            to visit the waste of each footfall I had stacked 

invisible along a circled path these twenty years—
but I was made instead to wonder 

            where Mike had gone, why he didn’t 

call, what the beer was truly offering, 
and what, the fuck.

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