Coyote Was There
Hi there.
Today I’ve got a poem dedicated to one of my favorite animals and archetypes, Coyote. It was inspired by a collection I read recently called Coyote’s Journal, but taps into a relationship with this symbol of wily creativity I’ve been building since literally my first memory, of waking up in my crib alongside orange desert wallpaper depicting cartoonishly fluffy Coyotes alongside green Saguaro cacti. Growing up on the edge of a rolling state park, I heard their howls overnight and caught glimpses of them on the hilly streets, running with tails tucked when caught in the crosshairs of my parents’ cars’ headlights.
It’s only in recent years I’ve connected my personal relationship with Coyote to the rich context of Coyote storytelling that runs through almost all American indigenous cultures. In these tales, Coyote typically occupies the role of a trickster, equal parts sage and fool, who tends to taunt heroes even as he teaches them valuable lessons. For me, this gives shape to the shadow I’ve carried within my consciousness since I was a child, not really an imaginary friend, but an amorphous challenger, always daring me onto the next task, haunting me with what could go wrong, or noting the humor and poetry in my failures and falls.
As I grow into my voice and develop this blog further, know that the spirit of Coyote will continue to keep me company as a source of both frustration and inspiration. So, without further ado, is one among many tributes to this trickster.
Side note: I’m reintroducing video readings of my weekly poems, experimenting with this format as I gain the patience for editing. If you have any thoughts about this format or how it could be improved, let me know in the comments.
O Coyote,
you were always there, weren’t you?
You were there in my earliest memories,
in the crib where father tucked me in
you in wallpaper woke me up,
never quite alone, but hounded by
caricatures of a life to come.
You were there when I walked home
from the cul-de-sac after dark,
reaching human hands from sleeping hedges,
daring me to run and
riding the borders of the streetlights glow.
You were there when I couldn’t leave well enough as is,
when I tried what I said I never could.
Whether I failed or succeeded,
you were there to say I told you so.
You told me a lot of things
without speaking,
only perking your pointed ears.
You were there when I loved and lost
who I swore I never would,
licking at the river of tears
wagging your jagged tail over
a steaming pile of pain and howling
This would make a good song, boy.
You were here when the last dew of a long night
dropped on my dry pages
so few who knew me would believe
these weren’t tearmarks.
You’ve been my friend in missed steps,
my grin at missed connections,
my wide eyes in rundown headlights,
my missing mystic, half-buried in the woods,
the muddy grace I didn’t know I deserved.
You hitch-hiked on street signs to nameless mountain ranges
until I’d peel away from the billboard traffic and offer
Need a thumb?
Together we took to the peak
and tried to swallow the moon
but keep the halo.
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