Today I climbed an actual mountain as well as the metaphorical one I often climb when writing. It was hard. My legs hurt a lot. My blood was pumping and my ears were popping. I have provided evidence that this event happened in both photo and poem form.
to find the poem.
I catch it wheezing
It sneaks up as squeaky clean
sneakers scuff rough paths through
cut grass and wild wind cuts cold
glass through tight chest-
I need rest I need rest I need rest.
Mountain leers over like a drunk uncle,
says, Don't loiter, loser. This poem ain't
waiting for your breath to come crawling back.
Trust me, I know best I know best I know best.