By Lauren Crawford
 
I stand behind an empty chair in the lodge and wait for the next girl in line.
     A brown coffee straw in my gloved hand, I'm no professional at flushing 
 
for head lice like a birding dog. They call it "quartering" when the dog 
     makes a running pattern in a field for the elusive quail; the same
     pattern 
 
I make on the heads of every camper; the straw moving like a dog's snout 
     in the scorched grass. The line slinks out the door. They see me as the
     bringer of joy, 
 
the conductor of play. Their wants are written so plainly on their faces-
     to be happy, to have fun. They can barely sit still in the chair as I
     comb, 
 
gentle as a lamb, behind the ears, down the nape, around the hairline.
     But it's not lice I find on them. Every head, every girl, every year, 
 
their burdens are buried in the follicles of their hair for me to find.
     I root around, and they blink up at me like a neon sign. 
 
This one's mother died three months ago. That one's brother hits her 
     when no one is looking. One girl must share her lunch with three 
     bullies. 
 
Another is wishing for the nightmares of her school shooting to stop.
     I take their burdens and hold them gently in my hands for a moment 
 
before I make a plan to rid them for good. Perhaps I might steal them
     while the girls sleep, or drown them in the lake. Sunlight beckons 
 
the little rascals to run and run until they can't anymore. 
     The horses are flinging themselves in the dirt. This must be my
     addiction; 
 
their healing my salve. Pain somehow easier to ignore when faced
     with that of a perfect, innocent stranger. 
 
I teach them to shed that pain like a locust, leave it there to rot on a tree, 
     and go singing a new song in as many fields as they can. 

~~~~~

Lauren Crawford holds an MFA in poetry from Southern Illinois University, Carbondale. A native of Houston, Texas, she is the recipient of the 2023 Willie Morris Award, a finalist for the 2024 Rash Award, third place winner of the 2024 Connecticut Poetry Award, and the second place winner of the 2020 Louisiana State Poetry Society Award. Her debut collection, Catch & Release, is forthcoming in 2025 with Cornerstone Press as part of the University of Wisconsin’s Portage Poetry Series. Her poetry has either appeared or is forthcoming in Poet Lore, Passengers Journal, The Appalachian Review, Prime Number Magazine, SoFloPoJo, The Florida Review, Red Ogre Review, Ponder Review, The Midwest Quarterly, THIMBLE, The Worcester Review, The Spectacle and elsewhere. Lauren currently teaches writing at the University of New Haven and serves on the editorial teams of Iron Oak Editions, Palette Poetry, and Alan Squire Publishing Bulletin. Connect with her on Bluesky: @laurencraw.bsky.social.