Montana Calls

Montana Calls

Montana calls, an old friend
I haven’t seen for years.

We were close once but I left her for Alaska
only to return to the Big Horn country of the Crow
and the river filled with brown and rainbow
calling out my name.

Then I followed eastern roots
and cozied up to Maine
to learn the wiles of landlocked salmon,
the brute force of lakebound bass.

But now I hear the call of wolves
returned to Yellowstone
and like the wolves I feel the pull
of Tetons and Rocky Mountain crests

of moose and bear and sheep
and rivers named Madison and Gallatin and Fire Hole,

a call so strong I’ll have to go, fly rod in my hand.

Poem by Alan Harawitz Photo by Damon Bungard