Peripheries
on being a hunted species
I caught a fox
in my periphery lens, barely
more than a streak of copper fur
tail swishing, soundless
foot patter disappearing into brush
that fraction of a second before
my brain registered their presence
My eyes scanned for them
footfalls trying to match their quiet
as I passed through the woods
but that glimpse was
everything
just to know they exist
here
I only ever see their bodies
diminished
on the side of the road
flattened husks of flesh
I almost forget
they live among us
pushed to the fringes
scapegoated into treading lightly
through their ever-shrinking
habitable world
But this is the second sighting
in one week
each time an ache of recognition
too convenient to call
coincidence
an understanding passing between
two hunted species
I hope you catch me
streaking stealthy through the woods
a flash of real living flesh
before I disappear
back into the arms of wild
I hope you won’t find me
flattened
on the side of this country’s road
But if you do
Please
scoop me up and wrap me in my peoples’ flag
and lay me back down
inside the forest, someplace
the foxes also tread
P.S. For my friends and readers who may not be fully aware, this week has been brutal in the way of executive orders and legislative warfare on so many fronts, one of the biggest battlefields being transgender, nonbinary and gender-nonconforming rights to existence and care. Many people I know and love, myself included, are struggling to process the experience of living in a country that has legislated us out of existence (i.e., this executive order and this change in documentation, for beginners).
The Lemkin Institute for Genocide Prevention and Human Security has issued a red flag alert for genocide following the Nazi salute at the inauguration ceremony — an alert that includes trans people, refugees and migrants.
In the midst of this, I have barely been able to feel. This poem is but a trickle flowing out of a river of dammed emotion. As is often the case, I had to get out into nature to access it.
There is more to all this than the horror. I’m trying to lean into both edges and softness.
Thank you for being here. And please, take care of each other. Check in on your loved ones, especially the ones who are afraid.
with all my love and hope,
Phoenix
Once upon a time, many years ago, around a tiny campfire inside Yellowstone National Park, my wife and I sat quietly together enjoying nature and sore muscles from a long day of hiking and sight seeing. A fox, red and sleek, trotted right through our campsite between where we sat and where the embers of our fire burned. They glanced at us, we watched them, and they continued on into the forest again without a backwards glance. I felt then, as I still do now, like I won some sort of lottery in that moment, not just to see such a gorgeous creature, but to share calm and ease with them and them with me.
i see you. i feel you. and i am with you. you are full-bodied sacred.
foxes, in my opinion, are the most magnificent creatures on this earth. they have long inspired me to be in my aliveness and play, no matter the space. thank you for sharing your aliveness with us, in such a dark context, when words are hard to find.
big love.