At Shambhala by Chelsea Franz

Our first day together, we ate mushrooms
beside the river.

You didn’t think
we could assemble shade
with a dead tree,
some long skinny sticks,
stones, an old bedsheet.

i knew ways could always be willed—

i’m skilled at being positive
for others.

The weight of living left

us alone, the giggles stayed

with the sun. Passing

people were prone to

compliment our cozy, crafty tent.

It’s then i remembered,
we were still in this world.

A man with a camera on his phone
was amazed, called us the most beautiful,
serene scene. My head on your shoulder,
bodies touching, not for lack of room.

He asked to capture our moment.

i said yes.

He looked like he almost felt blessed;
i bet he could not realize
we had hardly just met.

i still feel caught up in your arms,
sitting at home, alone— not a week
has passed since I saw you last.

i wonder how that picture turned out.

i wonder if i will ever get to see it.

Franz (she/her) creates on the unceded lands of the Coast Salish people, colonially known as Surrey, B.C.