Heading West by Claire Ibarra
Sometimes Life turns feral. Sometimes it snarls and hisses in your face. I woke from a deep sleep to find mine had gnawed and clawed through the door, it jumped the fence, taking a backwoods trail, leaving only faint tracks behind. Perhaps it seeks refuge from the winter storm.
I look to the constellations,
to the rising and setting sun,
to the lopsided curve of the waxing moon,
to the tilt of the rotating Earth.
I look to my compass and map,
and now head west to find it.
By Claire Ibarra