Carrie Anne Potter

Instructions for the Ranger

Divvy the common surface into tarns.

Subdividing the skim of freshwater over

swallowed things, you will hear the distance

to the nearest trailhead. When charcoal

smears above, recognize chaotic sky.

When the ripples steady, recognize kingfisher.

Larch needles must be gathered by moonlight. Know

this is a strange and solitary occupation. Units of trust

are rare here, but salt deposited at tired feet should

be taken as a sign of regard.

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Carrie Anne Potter is a sophomore at SUNY Geneseo, where she majors in English literature and French. She is from Potsdam, NY, and consequently considers herself at least half Canadian. When she’s not furiously debating the geographical boundaries of “upstate” and “downstate,” Carrie can be found writing poetry, playing her violin, rewatching Portlandia for the hundredth time, or drinking way too much coffee. This is Carrie’s first publication.