Jasper National Park
Natasha Deonarain
dedicated to s.d.
edge of a cliff. viewpoint ahead;
stiff upper lip of an abyss
moustached with unshaven pine,
opens one groggy red eye.
motor kills. young family
spills from four doors of a white mercedes;
three children unleashed, flapping, clapping,
this way that when—
a shudder. father spots her
unsteady on diaper-bound legs rocking, rocking;
cavernous mouth yawning below.
dry lips pinch. no air dare escape and he,
keenly aware if he grabs,
makes one sudden move,
she’ll clap flap up down so instead reaches
fingers thumb to breast pocket, shakes a ring of shiny keys;
come, look what I have here for you!
attention caught. she bares four white teeth,
takes one rickety step back as wife, crystallized,
sinks polished nails
deep into youngest boy’s flesh.
now. narcissists in full bloom,
roots deep, soiled and tended by time;
if one more step—
what difference in our lives would she have
chosen
to make?
Natasha Deonarain is a medical doctor and lives part-time between Arizona and Colorado. Her poems are published or forthcoming in The RavensPerch, Door is Ajar, Crack the Spine, Juked, NELLE, and various others. She is currently working on her first chapbook focusing on the intersection between spirituality and medical practice.