Eagle Cliff
Stuck and holding
on,
a bloody knuckle
grip into the Miniwaska granite,
a toe-hold with the
right foot,
the left on a
one-inch ledge,
spread eagle
thirty-five feet above
rock shards that
slid off this mountain
before sound was
born on earth,
I am scaling Eagle
Cliff alone,
when a bee buzzes
my ear
and returns again
and again
in tight chaotic
orbits.
Why am I here?
going back is
impossible,
...there...a rotted
pine shrub,
barely within reach
of my left fingertips...
I grab for
it, seems to snap
even before I touch
it, falls out of my
hand to the rocks
(below, I was
immortal, now I’m
not on terra firma
any
more thoughts of my
kids don’t have to
prove to themselves that they are young
forever)
shoulder elbow wrist and digits jerk away
from the mountain my right hand digs deeper into its crack hips and thighs push
against the wall I arch my spine in a convulsion.
In this infinite
moment
dark oblivion
invades my lungs,
and leaves the
etchings of her claws
on the chambers of
my heart,
as a warning.
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