It’s the winter of ’05. Christmas Eve.
With a pillowcase full of Kudos bars
and a half-eaten birthday cake, we run.
Time escapes with us. We follow the half-
frozen creek, the winds whipping through the trees
cracking our cheeks and burning our banished
faces. Dawn finds us first: her sun shining
like a search light. Hunger, regret, fatigue
and fear quickly follow. One slow stumble-
step at a time, we argue and cry through
the thigh-high snow. Refuge comes as a small
cobble-stone bridge curved over the crooked
creek. Finding a tiny alcove below,
we pack in side-by-side and back-to-back.
Too exhausted to eat, we fall asleep:
a bunched-up bundle of lost boys. Men are
laughing in my dreams. Dogs bark. We awake
to state troopers and staff on ATV’s.
Once back at our cottage, I ask a nurse
how they found us. She smiles and says that
they just followed the footprints in the snow.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.  Robert McCracken is a gifted poet, and I’ve enjoyed everything he has sent us over the years. I don’t know if we will hear from him again, as he will be starting a new life in the not too distant future. He has spent nearly a decade in isolation. I wish him the very best in all that he does.

Robert can be reached at:
Smart Communications/PADOC
Robert McCracken LG8344
Sci-Greene
P.O. Box 33028
St. Petersburg, FL 33733