Tigers, Could Have Been

The wedding night, she had more bobby pins

in her hair, and in her heart, pins on items of interest

spears like Saint Sebastian, 

sacrificial, they tumbled onto the countertop

in the hotel, and in her heart, pins on places she’d been

Freiburg, Kinsale, Xela, 

she hoped this was home

home is a word like mom, or hum

how the mouth closes,

humming, hmming, thinking or consoling, closing lips 

when language ends, the body knows

eastern Colorado is too big for maps or pins, the wild wind 

once pulled its fingers through her hair there, 

she thought he was that kind of man

Some people are like snow, or rocks, 

they’re like hope tumbling out 

on the hotel floor, the bed, the place of expectation, 

or of sleep, or TV, after flipping through some nature shows, 

where nocturnal predators- lions, lynxes maybe, tigers-

pulled their knives across a tree

to declare: this is mine

To think marriage would be like that

day, when her hair was down 

and the open high ground rose westward until the blue 

giants blossomed into mountains and no one can

possess it, or describe it:

a woman stands in front of the mirror,

it’s evening, she’s running her hands through her hair

looking for any pins still in

---

Molly Sturdevant

Molly Sturdevant's writing has appeared in Orion Magazine, The Dark Mountain Project, Crab Creek Review, Poetry Northwest, About Place Journal, and elsewhere. Nominated for a Best of the Net and a Pushcart, she is recognized as a Western Federation of Miners Union Scholar. Her labor-history novel is forthcoming in 2026.