by Jane Craven Issue: Spring/Summer 2017
We found out after they searched
the surrounding woods, after dogs
bayed and circled the witch-hazel
sourwood and redbud,
after staff followed protocol
for the lost, the phone
calls between her panicked children,
the police, early moon a silver alert.
Some trace of what she was
drove her not to the outdoors, dusty
thoroughbred of her youth,
but down the highway, on foot
mind you, to the local big box
store home & garden aisle where she
stood for who knows how long
puzzling over each object, preferring
those that fit in the palm of her hand
small bowl, spoons for measuring.
Thoughts bound ahead circle back.
From deep in the trees a voice says
I’m here I was in here the whole time. 

Jane Craven

Jane Craven lives in Raleigh, North Carolina, graduated from UNC-Chapel Hill, and has worked in systems development for AT&T and as the director of a contemporary art museum. She was recently accepted into the North Carolina State University MFA-Poetry program and her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Texas Review, Still Journal, Euonia, and Peacock Journal.