My Animal Voice

In Zion Park on a mountain road,

on a turn above an immense gorge,

my side of the road has but guardrail and air.

My wife and children rely on my driving.

Oncoming is a larger vehicle, drifting into my lane,

an SUV. Is he sleeping? Drunk? Oblivious that

in the next few seconds he will kill us?

I steer onto gravel, two wheels still on asphalt— required

to keep control. The guardrail is close, beyond it, the drop.

Approaching death takes more of my lane. If he touches me,

over we go. In the final second, a voice unknown

erupts in my throat: NO! It was unintended. It wasn’t me.

It was stranger, pure animal.

The oncoming car wakes up and swerves. We escape.

Pitter pat! My body aches with adrenalin,

the beast set free to go back where it lives,

wherever it lives with its word.