Eventide Offering 

For Holly

In the vespertine

hour I drove us

along a coast

along a road

that is slowly crumbling to

sea. Around a corner

in shadows I spotted

a gang of elk, crepuscular

and I could not

conjure their name.

Instead, I pointed,

shouted “horse cow”

and knew your eyes

would follow

my fingers

in any direction.

You see what I see

you name what I cannot

find words for, and you have

somehow found words for me

beyond my name. We are

neither one of us diurnal

yet we are always awake,

in the light, together.

Lauren Fulton is a queer, single mom and writer of poetry, fiction and essays. Born and raised in Florida, she now lives in Portland, Oregon. She loves naps, public libraries, and trying to keep indoor plants alive. Lauren was a finalist for the Ruminate poetry prize and her work has been featured there, in Sixfold, and elsewhere, and she is a contributing member of the Rebel on Page poetry collective.