Backpacking
Dylan had twenty-three hours left
Of the twenty-four he had agreed
To be left alone in the near desert
Of the last-chance mountains
He had already twisted two lanyards
Around his left wrist
Drawn four lizards in all not moving
(except for their trippy necks)
And turned them into monsters.
No wait, he could still
Smooth the sleeping bag out from its roll
Pour water into his canteen and sip
Stare at the clouds
Dylan had never been alone before
This moment
Waiting in line by himself
Used to count, a solo cup
Did not count now, no more would count
A bee kept him company, for a few seconds
A rock stayed longer, was up for a chat
The sun leaned down to embrace the hills
And the young man laid back to observe
Not the sunset, as he had expected,
But the whole sky.
Fire on the Moon
We should not take the first offer
There’s a fire on the moon tonight
Look how red she is
She is so mad at me she might leave
I accepted the first offer
I could not wait I was just that green
There was so much on the line
And I so wanted the money
She did not want the money
She wanted the house, full of windows
The window that framed
The crimson moon, too late.
Jill Bronfman is a professor, lawyer, non-profit worker, and parent. She placed second in the Joan Ramseyer Memorial Poetry Contest in 2020. Her work has been accepted for publication in a variety of literary journals as well as law and technical journals and books. She has performed her work in Poets in the Parks, The Basement Series, and LitQuake, and had her story about a middle-aged robot produced as a podcast.
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