YOU WILL LOSE IT ALL ON
THE OREGON TRAIL

 

 

when you scraped your leg after falling down in

the clearest of utah’s rivers i scolded you because

there are never any shells in rivers, isabelle, don’t

do this right now, please stop making a scene,

stop fussing & let me wrap this bandage around

your goddamn leg, i’m not fooling now.

when you asked if we could take a day off

& set up camp under a nearby waterfall

i yelled at you in front of the kids because

we don’t have a day to take off, isabelle, i’m

trying to get us to oregon before the winter

which won’t be possible if you keep suggesting

horrible ideas. when your arm got stuck in between

two wooden boards on our wagon & we had to break

them both to get it free i cried because god fucking

dammit isabelle, the bugs are gonna eat us alive.

when you stayed up late one night to look at the

stars after you missed the sunset putting

scout to bed which left you falling asleep in the

desert’s cold air & getting sick the next morning,

i silently prayed because isabelle, why do i bother.

what is any of this for, anyway? do you even

slightly give a damn about any kind of responsibility?

when you died, it was a tuesday morning. the sun rose

& when you didn’t, i felt numb because what do i do

now, isabelle? where has the dog run off to?

who can i protect?