Kimberly O'Connor

Quick! This virtual exhibit of women’s history in national parks before it’s removed.

One of the things I loved reading late last week was the many protests that took place at national parks. I like discovering about protests I knew nothing about; it makes me feel less crazy and alone somehow.

I came across this article where a park ranger explains a lot about the context and impacts of the cuts on the National Park services, like the fact that when some rangers lose their jobs, they also become homeless, and that these cuts could be part of a long-term plan to sell off and privatize beautiful public American natural spaces.

Today I’m using Five Calls to call my reps and tell them how important I think national parks and protected natural spaces are.

Here’s a poem that takes place in a national park I wrote awhile back. I have a complicated relationship with camping, but damn it, I want the option to go.

This poem was published in 2024 in High Grade (page 73).

Yosemite

I was miserable: 

terrified of bears, 

restless in the tent

night after endless night,

certain each leaf’s rustle 

was an animal intent 

on eating me up 

like a girl 

in a fairy tale.

I so deeply longed 

for a shower 

I decided to walk 

into the frigid, 

bright, clear lake 

that stretched for miles 

between the park’s 

single road and 

the lonely wilderness.

It was so cold 

my body felt cold

only a moment: 

then numbness.

I ducked my head 

under once, then twice, 

then waded, shivering, 

to shore. I shone, 

then, for awhile 

there, clean, subdued, 

finally silent, silent 

like a pine, 

or a cliff, 

or a cloud,  

or a star.

Photo by Serafin Reyna on Unsplash