Six Hours Lost, Land Between the Lakes

Long after dark had fallen
and the trail left behind,

Long after the dog I had chased
into the unfamiliar woods

disappeared, she long gone into oaks
and hickory and brush—and likely

back asleep on the porch
of my new boyfriend’s cabin—

I saw a fire in the distance
and walked toward it. There

in their camp, orange light flashing
across their rough bearded faces,

creased in dirt, unruly feral hair,
tin cups in grimy hands

like that movie. Relaxing, they
mocked and jabbed at each other,

after a long day of timbering.
Nearly all jumped up when

I wandered in, but the youngest, a teenager,
stayed seated, continued pawing

at the ground with a hatchet
while I spoke, as if he were embarrassed.

I was about his age and pretty enough, if
that ever matters, and alone

in the woods, completely soaked
in fear, finding no real relief

in discovering their camp.
I counted quickly. There

were eight of them. Their eyes
as astonished as mine

that we were there, together,
miles away from everyone and

everything in the middle
of the night woods. They huddled

a few moments, looking over
to eye me and then back to hushed talk.

Finally, two set down their whiskeys.
It had been determined. They would be the ones

to drive me back. The drive was quiet
but for me in the middle of the cab,

pointing out turns. When I stumbled
from the old logging truck

into the washing blue lights
of the sheriff’s and deputy’s cars,

I rushed into the arms of a man I would
date for only a few more weeks.

It’s good to remember this kindness of men,
especially in the times we are living.