Wimbledon, North Dakota

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That summer the ticks

attacked. Ran over our legs,

little beasts hunting prey

and bleeding dry

I showered in the cool

unfurnished basement,

watched their black bodies shiver

beneath the drain, and dry

She wrapped a towel

around my hair,

fed me candy

from her secret stash

She doesn’t speak much anymore

Can’t walk on her own

Coughs, the sound of

sandpaper licking concrete

The valley by her house

green with grass,

brown with cattails, now

brown with dirt

The way her pants

and sweaters always matched,

synchronized swimmers

diving across her body

That day we found the little lizard

next to the shower drain,

a miniature alligator,

green resting on the gray floor

The crickets call,

they remember her,

from their dandelion cocoons,

turning white and swinging with the wind

Bio:

Debbie J. Ernie holds a bachelor degree in English – Creative Writing from the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire. She plans to pursue a MFA in Poetry in the near future.