Coyote Child
Swept tempestuously from misty dreams, the lost girl
Found herself, out-of-depth, small, a
Child, all but choiceless she returned hastily
Home, bewitched by her broken desert
Of thorny cacti, dancing in the wind,
Beckoning towards her outstretched
Arms and whispering “Come home.” Come home to
Your painted orange sunset and
The smell of home-cooked curry. Come home, leave your
Tall cathedral, stay safe, the desert
Is your Guardian. The lost girl came closer,
Closer to the dancing cacti but
She pricked herself. The dark allure of blood
Brought the coyotes to her door, her
Deadly reminder of a flawed past life,
And broken memories, she listened
The coyotes, they howled, louder, louder,
Till the girl remembered her maimed
History. Her years of Becoming returned,
like the desert wind, she saw
Her blood painted the sunset a color,
Even more alluring. Go I
Must, she whispered. For the cacti mean no
Harm. These rough coyotes are my
Family. Even as she wrestled, the kiss of
Lost childhood renewed, she blessed
This broken road and she called it Home, her
Thorny cacti enveloped her as
She danced with the cruel wind, grateful for her
Appendages. Grateful for the
Painted orange sunset. Never forgetting
Her beautiful broken desert.
Anya Wahal is a senior at Georgetown University majoring in Science, Technology, and International Affairs. A researcher, storyteller, and public servant, Anya is passionate about communicating the human stories behind environmental crises.