Things to Do with a Monster
After Gary Snyder’s “things to do” poems
You have to be a monster, first of all,
or pretend
Walk like them, shift your weight and grunt like them,
put on a mask
Keep your hair just the way it is, greasy,
cascading
Hunch your back only slightly, just enough,
like you’re a witch
Climb atop mesas for the view and pools,
blow on rain
Watch the white-tailed antelope spring about,
with crusty butts
Play house in arroyos, carve out a life:
minimal
Make mud pies on the road after rainfall,
tap them jiggle
Dig wild onions in the north hills of Daghaałgaii
for bone broth
Shoot the breeze on the back of Monster Bird,
extra legroom
Tie sage bundles and hang them out to dry
like jerky
Follow slow moving stinkbugs and smear them
for the smell
Go to a sleepover at “Kicks’s” place, sleep
one eye open
Run alongside them as they hunt their prey,
pray for them
Peel off the skin of wild potatoes,
mash with flesh
Cup your hands at the side of Cove Mountains,
push into her
Chase whirlwinds until they carry us up,
death ascending
Use dried corn husk as tinder for a fire,
monster breaths
Strike the crevice of a rock with a stick,
watch water rise
See your reflection in the stream, his face
rippling into yours
