Bison Bison: a poem

 A poem inspired by our camping trip to Yellowstone in 2017

nothing awakens your primal brain more quickly

than the snort 

of a one-ton animal

two inches from your head.

it was starry that night,

and cold.

we had stayed up till 11 waiting 

for the Milky Way

but the stars were dim.

the sun sets so late

this far north,

here in Yellowstone,

so close to the solstice

(we had seen the International Space Station, 

though,

a tiny dot hurtling between planets).

mesh.

mesh and polyester film,

ripstop,

waterproof

(so the packaging claimed)

half of half of half a millimeter thick

above my sleeping head

and outside,

a buffalo.

Latin name Bison bison,

the bisoniest bison you'd ever seen

(there used to be another one,

twice as big, the Internet tells me

Bison latifrons),

outside our tent,

two inches from my skull

snorting.

*

lying awake in bed,

brain sorting through shards of thought,

free-associating myself to sleep.

outside, I hear the snort 

of a motor,

a gunned engine, accelerator down, roaring by.

and I think,

even if that guy ran into our house with his car,

we'd be safe.

no tents here, but walls. thick walls, safe walls, walls covered in plaster, fortified with lathe, skinned with siding.

safe

we are safe.

we are safe here.

we are feeling safe here.

we are feeling the illusion of safety here.

we are feeling the illusion of safety here because if I let go of this illusion I will go

mad

sobbing mad

crying-and-waking-up-at-2am-to-make-Zach-check-outside-our-tent-for-mountain-lions 

mad

(that time, it was actually just a fly.

I did think it was a mountain lion, though,

I did).

*

the bison don't know why we're in their meadow

in our tent in the middle of the night.

they just want to eat grass and paw and snort

(two inches from my head, outside the tent).

in the calm after the rush

of flailing, untangling, unzipping this thin, thin tent,

we stand breathless on the other side of our car,

and the bison blink at us.

the stars are so bright they cast shadows

from these car-sized animals

chewing grass and blinking

and shaking their huge heads with little curled horns.

all is silent,

my heart thudding,

my brain trying to reason with my brain stem

that there is a car between us and the Big Scary Thing

and we will be okay.

we are safe.

we are safe here.

I think one of the bison smiled at me. 

~~~