She left me, I said. I opened my palms into the wind and blew back. I had been tousled about all night. My hair was shaken from me like leaves in a rain storm. I emerged bald and shimmering. A star hooked to an eye. Sky dust all over my arms. My eyes rolling to my shoulders. There is nothing here I recognize. I opened the hidden door just under my knee, and they all trickled to my ankles. They didn’t carry bugles or weapons. You could almost call them cute. But I was not happy they had shown up again. Why not leave me, I whispered, why not leave me in peace? I wondered what they would ask next. I almost closed my ears and stuck my tongue in my eyes. But they rolled a banner down my leg and offered me a giant pineapple. Something sweet for the lady. Of course, of course. Could we sit together? Yes, that would be nice. We settled on an old rock. The pineapple was sweet and full of juice. I ate it slowly. After I was finished, we sat together quietly. No need for chatter. If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not get up for awhile. They said, yes yes. And they pulled a blanket from the earth. Your head goes here, sister. And I waited for the sky to fall. It didn’t even quiver. We’ve got this, I heard them say. We’ve turned a flood into a river. 

~ Carol Krause, “Channels”, The Fiddlehead, Issue 286, Winter 2021.