Compose it now, as a guarantee of surviving
this turbulent age, take it out for reassurance
when you need it most,
like a fifth of vodka,
or memories
of an appaloosa mare,
calling to you from across the pasture.

Recollections of the moon rising over the barn
will be an antidote to dreary job histories,
each with a useless 401k,
counterpoint to dishwashing
and laundry
that never failed to spill over
the sides of your hamper.

Memories of your little brother and sister
shrieking across the meadow
where a black bull grazed,
oblivious, will sustain you.
Remember why you loved the lake at night,
and wanted to walk closer to its shore—
the silence. So complete,
like the earliest days of the lake’s existence.

Images of family, siblings, children,
husbands and lovers you can safely let go,
assume they are waiting for you, somewhere.

Selected byLawrence George
Image credit:Green Chameleon
Trish Saunders

Trish Saunders was raised in the Pacific Northwest, and from an early age was disturbed at the destruction of the forests and the calamitous effect of dams on salmon and orcas. She has poems published or forthcoming in Chiron Review, Eunoia Review, Medusa's Kitchen, The Journal of American Poetry, Off The Coast, Right Hand Pointing, among others. She is unashamedly "political" in much of her writing. She lives in Seattle.