A full cold moon this December night
lights the forest path outside my cabin
as I stop to stare at empty clam shells
I’ve stumbled on by an icy snowbank.
Then something else catches my eye –
footprints, huge humanoid footprints.
What’s that strange pungent smell
and the quiet grumbling I can hear
coming from behind a cedar someone
is shaking snow from? Could it be
the hairy, ape-like giant said to dwell
in the Pacific Northwest, our local yeti?
Earlier today I heard a fisherman say
a thief is stealing salmon from his nets.
Shall I tell the forest rangers when next
we meet what happened here tonight?
They might track him down; he could be
a freak in captivity. No, I won’t speak of it.
Mary Franklin’s poems have been published in numerous print and online journals including Anthropocene, Ink Sweat and Tears, Iota, London Grip, The Stare’s Nest and Three Drops from a Cauldron. Her tanka have appeared in journals in Australia, Canada, UK and USA. She lives in Vancouver, British Columbia.
lights the forest path outside my cabin
as I stop to stare at empty clam shells
I’ve stumbled on by an icy snowbank.
Then something else catches my eye –
footprints, huge humanoid footprints.
What’s that strange pungent smell
and the quiet grumbling I can hear
coming from behind a cedar someone
is shaking snow from? Could it be
the hairy, ape-like giant said to dwell
in the Pacific Northwest, our local yeti?
Earlier today I heard a fisherman say
a thief is stealing salmon from his nets.
Shall I tell the forest rangers when next
we meet what happened here tonight?
They might track him down; he could be
a freak in captivity. No, I won’t speak of it.
Mary Franklin’s poems have been published in numerous print and online journals including Anthropocene, Ink Sweat and Tears, Iota, London Grip, The Stare’s Nest and Three Drops from a Cauldron. Her tanka have appeared in journals in Australia, Canada, UK and USA. She lives in Vancouver, British Columbia.
Brilliant poem. With great sentiment
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