If John Muir Were a Girl

At the edge of the gumdrop forest waits a door to swallow her whole

deep, deeper down the rabbit hole she hopes to lose her mind or find her soul

or a better way back than before.

Perhaps chance upon a homeless camp

tarp and dust pan,

flash backs to that woman & those men you caught with your 22—

old news, that was way back when— squirrels & John Muir wouldn’t even give it a passing glance

by the old growth hemlock & spruce, snow on ground & twisting roots holding down your queen

of hearts, ocean breath & song of thrush, old man’s beard on Dr. Seuss trees & mushroom musk.

If John Muir were a her on this frapcious earth day she’d prefer the form of a cheshire cat

rather than a girl without a dog, 5’5 122 pounds, a perfect rabbit for the hunting hieing through wonderland

& a homeless camp, lichen’s web catching on her hat, rain water pooling under boots,

nibbling at the ice, and at the trail head upon her return, I wonder if John Muir

the man would observe a ladies torn thong strung along a branch as if to offer

a warning… I wonder.

Summer Koester is an award-winning writer and an educator, artivist, and culture disruptor in Lingít Aaní, "Land of Tides," a.k.a. Juneau, Alaska. Her words have appeared in New York Times, The Sun, McSweeney's Internet Tendency, Huffington Post, Insider Magazine, The Independent, and various buses around Juneau.

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