Megan Nix

Do you remember the sound of elk

twinkling through tent,

undulating thin nylon and sleeping bags?

One night

in Rocky Mountain National Park

we lay in the dark

interrupted only by cold and bugle.

I thought their moans

must have been myth coming through brass,

so I walked the dog

through the other campers,

seeking the source.

I found rustling black hills

awash in stuttering aspen leaves,

but couldn’t reach the singing fur.

Instead of returning to your warm body,

I lingered,



the notes, swinging and low,

more moving

than your hot fingertips

trying to peel me down

to pure sound.

Megan Nix looks like she could be in high school even though she teaches Senior English and Creative Writing in Louisiana. She wouldn't make it out of her purple, orange, and turquoise house in the Lower Garden District of New Orleans every morning if it weren't for her obsessions with coffee and her lab-shepherd, Quincy. Her work has been published in The Denver Post and The Current.

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