Dear Locus
Jennifer Bullis

Dear Locus

I’m on foot all
the time now, feetsored
and soul-flown.

But pilgrimage pleases
in spite of my rarely

before all the endings, what remains
is wonder, a few good deeds,
fewer answers. This space.

In the classic cartoons,
during chase scenes, the land
falls away under the characters’
scrambling steps.
Recognition makes me laugh:
every crumbling place a sacred site,
every where a holy relic.

I witnessed spring’s first robin
supplicate the earth with its beak:

      Come on, love, give us
      a little something for the stomach
      a delicious tendril I pull from the dirt
      but not just dirt
      something a bit more perfected
      for my red round belly.

Then the robin stilled,
while a breeze
made the fern leaves click.

Dear Destination, Dear Origin, You are—

I am always arriving,
am always setting out.

Jennifer Bullis

is the author of Impossible Lessons (MoonPath Press) and of poems and essays appearing in Gulf Coast, Indiana Review, Rhino Poetry,, and Water~Stone Review. An Artsmith Residency Fellow, she holds a Ph.D. from the University of California-Davis and lives in Bellingham, Washington, where she writes about long-distance foot travel, faith trouble, horse-keeping, motherhood, deforestation, and women in the courtroom.