Living Western; For Now

I know my family wonders,

why I live here, not there,

Meaning, living eastern.

with a lower case e

when in the west does the east seem inferior

when easterners don’t acknowledge west of the Missouri

and here the state is pronounced miz-our-a

I look out the window,

The poet’s window eastern poet Billy Collins writes

back in the day, was a wall
and laugh at poet humor.

I see the sage, mule deer
through the poet's window
where a lone moose, stands in the front yard, chomping on

wheat, as dogs bark
it is immense, and beautiful, and mythic.

This scene in the Colorado mountains may not have happened
if I lived eastern
although moose wander in northern New England

And, me, being a poet, and writer

and a moose lingering in my yard

and me, having two dogs
certainly seems western, in my mind.

I walk to the ancient rock
a mile jaunt from my house
looking down to the Fraser River and
into the Fraser Canyon where
Union Pacific railroad tracks parallel the flowing river

I wonder
how long will I be here.

I don’t know the answer and hope there is no answer

But know the pull of family
and being singular, and family loved

I will be back,

Back East, Back Home, Back.

For now, this place

This landscape of mountains, river, wildlife,
this harsh, arid, unbending space

That spared my dogs, that makes me write

That made me, me

is home.
 I stare out my western window to a blue sky
and see my own geography

of hope.