Stephanie Ross
Crocodylia in Rising Fog
Part I- Six Deer, A Fawn, and A Wolf
Following sacred instructions in their amygdala–
six deer and a fawn bounded from the woods.
Don’t question. Just move.
They stood, ankle deep in the slow-moving Bow River.
One twitched. Then they dispersed.
Scott and I lay upstream on round rocks–
on what would become river, still too early
for snow melt to expand the edges. We waited,
watched, curious to see commotion’s cause.
The wolf appeared on the opposite shore
–my first–silent, stealthy,
deep eyes watching us,
content.
Part II- Crocodiles and Alligators
Crocodiles and alligators sunbathed side-by-side.
Grey-green crocs with black-green alligators
absorbing heat together.
I contemplated my unemployment
while standing with a swarm of tourists
in the South Florida Everglades.
I recalled the silence at Toronto Pearson Airport
when I stood at the top of a parkade
looking at the rows of planes
from around the world, side by side,
atrophying in the sun.
Grounded while all airspace remained closed.
Grounding me too. Left wondering when
I’d receive a call from work to go pick up
stranded planes and passengers.
Spooked by stillness where nothing
normally rested, I’d driven home
in rising fog.
Though the tourist signs explained
that crocs have V-shaped snouts
and alligators shorter, rounder ones,
I found it easier to distinguish them by their teeth.
The toothy grin of a resting croc out glints
the alligator’s solitary visible row. They hide
the lower teeth until needed.
I recalled the surprising speed of their stumpy legs
when chasing prey, from a video I’d seen as a child.
Later, learning to synchronize slow strokes,
we paddled around the throng of eyes peering at us
from below. Black-green scales barely visible in the lake.
We found a place to beach the canoe and walk
through shaded cover along a dusty trail,
looking for wild coffee, finding strangler figs,
noting odd paths crossing ours then skimming
under low bush.
I paused, realized the marks beneath my feet
were from low hanging bellies.
Alligators presumably nearby.
That evening, drying dishes around the picnic table
at the we’ve-changed-plans-due-to-lack-of-job-lack-of funds
campground, we marvelled at the stillness of pink flamingos
on one leg and pondered the symbiotic relationship
of storks, ibises, and herons living alongside
alligators for protection from prey.
Broaching the topic of moving in together,
he now felt awkward asking in the midst
of changed circumstances. It’s not because
you don’t have work and I’m trying to save you.
I wanted to ask you before.
Three months earlier we’d been on the phone,
me in Canada and him away in the UK,
when he got a knock on the door.
The voice belonging to the knocking hand
said to turn on the TV. We’d watched
together as the Twin Towers burned,
heard reports of more hijacking,
witnessed the unveiling of the moment
when the sky-scraping silence began.
Were the terrorists like crocodiles
or alligators? How many teeth
could we not see?
Part III-Elk
Eyes along the gravel trail watched us in moonlit Oregon.
Cervus Canadensis – 900 pounds covered in scraggly fur
with antlers reaching toward the twinkling night.
Elk. Solid. Twice my height. On the way from the outhouse.
An invitation to an odd, impromptu date
in the fatigue of raising and travelling with children.
We veered hand in hand onto a small foot path through the trees,
discovered the clearing behind our tent where our children
still slept soundly through the calls of bachelor bulls–
a dozen or so accepted our presence at their party
–2 a.m. bugling into the night.
Part IV-Humans and Bears
Yesterday, my bank closed my account.
Identity theft they said. More nefarious
than the electronic eyes watching me
as my computer suggests possible replies
to my email that some far off AI machine
read before I could. Metaphoric towers burn
in every country.
Our teenage children no longer like to camp
but I find magic in our yard in the Pacific Northwest,
forest just ten minutes up the road, and along pristine
beaches without swarms of tourists
nor signs explaining wildlife.
Occasionally in spring, someone hangs
a handwritten note letting us know a bear
and her cubs have been sighted nearby.
Keep your children and dogs close.
I have fewer options now for keeping my children close.
I’m grateful we’ve travelled. With current events to the south,
we won’t go there now. Detainments at the border,
stripped rights for women, immigrants,
trans people. It doesn’t matter what privilege
our skin colour may hold. Our phones
are considered dangerous weapons.
Although content in one of the most beautiful places on earth,
sacred instructions in my amygdala say:
Don’t question. Just move.
Prepare the house for selling in spring. You don’t need
to know why yet. You don’t need a plan yet.
Just quiet preparation. Look on the bright side,
maybe you won’t need to inhale
the neighbours’ pot any longer. You can sit
outside and breathe.
I can see some of commotion’s causes
and they do not hold the elegance
of natural order. Long-established
symbiotic relationships are being displaced,
scaling forces are emerging from brackish waters
and eating alive the creatures who give life
to evolution, fertility to advancement.
I have the stomach wrenching feeling
that I cannot see even a single full row of teeth
– there are more hiding inside cavernous mouths
already spewing hate and calling it legal, moral, and right.
Last week I dreamt that my longest time
(and able-bodied) friend sat limp in a wheelchair.
Sleeping on the streets. Hungry. She wanted me
to take her to a party but I understood
that I would not be able to get her into my car.
I could not carry her.
I have practiced emergency landings
ad nauseum, asked unruly passengers
to sit so we could take off, arrive
at our destination safely, carry on.
And I will again find the switches
in my own smoke-filled cockpit
and land myself in a position to deploy
the emergency slide, though
that is not in my job description.
The jobs we think we hold become
extinct. We won’t be left unemployed,
but we will be propelled into the next step.
The Universe needs us to employ the deepest part of ourselves–
the innocence of fawns and the intelligence of wolves,
the power of Crocodylia in a natural habitat.
The grace of herons and the grounded centre of elk.
The bear’s love of her cubs, which keeps her moving
through frightening terrain, endures until
peace in the den is restored.
