Imag­i­nary Va­ca­tion Sce­nario #4

Foreword Reviews - - Spotlight Reviews Poetry -

You have a head­lamp and a knap­sack of buf­falo jerky. You will hike up the dark moun­tain into the darker pine, you will pitch your tent be­low a sky as thick with stars as the air is thin. You are the only hu­man for miles, and this knowl­edge just makes your legs stronger, your lungs more ca­pa­cious. You know how to skin a rab­bit. You know how to scare off a bear. The sea-level land you’ve left be­hind glows ra­dioac­tive and wants to know your mother’s maiden name, your pre­ferred birth con­trol method, your views on or­ganic milk and GMOS. Here, your brain space is filled with field knowl­edge: how to cal­cu­late dis­tance be­tween you and the coy­ote’s mourn­ful yip; the proper way to eat the pith of fire­weed. You know snakes can still bite hours af­ter they’ve died. The an­i­mals call and call, their voices echo­ing through the rat­tling aspen. You don’t an­swer be­cause they’re not call­ing you. You keep climb­ing. With each step, the moun­tain grows and for this you love it more. You will never reach the top. There is no top, it spills up­ward and out for­ever. You could climb for­ever. You will climb for­ever.

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