Letters from Vancouver Island

Kit-Xgwelemc Kennedy

Dear Coyote,

I have dreamt of you again.

I brush my hand against your fur

it is so thick, when my fingers dive

into your pelt I am lost. I can make

a life for myself down here.

Hunt for rabbits, mouses, finches.

Oh, how I run here

faster than the cars, further than the Thompson.

My body disappears

without the weight of on-watchers

I am nothing but physical.

Dear Coyote,

I have missed you, again.

My bed is a snow heavy road

and I cannot smell the woods.

No dirt, no pine, no rain.

Why don't you come for me anymore?

The asphalt is so bare, an endless expanse

of grey.        I miss

the brown shadows of your hair,

the red       figments of       your mouth,

the yellow   haunting           your eyes.

Dear Coyote,

are you looking for a husband?

Certainly I am not the first

human to offer themselves to a trickster.

I won't try to tame you,

will solve no riddles, never set a golden net

around our bed. I just need

a taste of your wildness.