Letter Drop

     by Mimi Ferraro 

A feral gesture: you approach the door, introduce yourself, 
extend hand, immediately spring back, as if touch stings. 
Back up further, don’t make eye contact.  Body leans 
toward escape, path leading out of the yard.  I see you 
warily crouched on rock, upper canyon.  True predators    
know   how to    circle      trap      tense muscles    relax   
Know I misinterpret; your English reserve meets my east 
coast xenophobia.   Overhead raptor hawk glides, near 
creosote, bee hive buzz rattles.  After all, you only stop by 
briefly, pick up some mistakenly delivered mail.  Quick 
twitch  muscle  slip  jaw slackens   I hand you the envelope, 
watch you leave, movement cruel, silken.   Fading light 
silhouettes   unspools slinking darkness at the cutting edge 
of day; rising moon razors coarse tuft of landscape.   You 
crest the rise, disappear.  Beneath front yard mesquite: scat, 
footprints; a dropped, empty envelope, jagged pelt in bare 
branch.  Sun sets coyote sly