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![]() More on poetry from The Atlantic Monthly. Also by Robert Wrigley: Winter Bale (2001) Highway 12, Just East of Paradise, Idaho (2001) Other World (2001) |
The Atlantic Monthly | January/February 2003
Discretion
by Robert Wrigley ..... Wearing only moonglow and the fire's shawls of final smoke, she made her way from the tent at 2:00 A.M., then squatted to pee, and the heavenly light showed me everything: its cool tongues of silver lapping mountain stones and the never-motionless leaves of aspens, licking her back, her hips, haunches, and more, illuminating even the deep green eyes of whatever animal it was that watched her from the forest then— a deer, I believed, and still believe, though I confess I did not rise that night to make sure, did not shine my light or murmur but waited until she returned, letting my head settle slowly back down to the pillow made of my clothes and welcomed her shivering back into the tent, from which I had sworn I would not look. Robert Wrigley teaches at the University of Idaho. This poem is part of a collection called Lives of the Animals, to be published next October. Copyright © 2003 by The Atlantic Monthly Group. All rights reserved. The Atlantic Monthly; January/February 2003; Discretion; Volume 291, No. 1; 150. | [an error occurred while processing this directive] |
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