Oliver Baez Bendorf

 

Field Guide to the Spectral Wilderness  When you arrive, it must be morning. The light must blue over triangles of treeline. There must be fields of corn and there must be coroners mistaking elbow joints for knee bones. There must be a trail through the woods at Possum Hollow and there must be the skull of a possum still lodged inside the trunk of a tree. There must be a tree. There must be the slightest hint of danger. There must be corners neatly tucked. There must be red the color of a puppy’s tongue there must be pleasure whether strapped or stolen and there must be ice there must always always always always be ice. There must be a way to feel our way toward the water and light from this darkness. There must be a fire. There must be a little candle thing that makes the bells go round. There must be a girl, there has always been a girl. There must be a boy, there has always been a boy. There must be a sharps container. There has never been a man but there must now be a man, not because one is needed but because one isn’t. There must be a ghost. They must be hungry. There must be a tiny meal and then there must be the best kind of love. There must be pine needles. There must be papercuts. A punchline. A burial. There must be a way to fall asleep beside the dead coyote and not wake up wearing its fur. There must be a horseman. There must be someone around here who remembers the voice of the girl. It isn’t me but it must be me. There must be daylight. There must be a yellow house. There must be a window. A ladder. A compass. We must have new names. There must be a boy and a girl and we must have new names. There must be a boy and there must be a girl. There must be. There must be. There must be someone looking for us by now. They must wonder where we are.