poem

 Erosion

Hemmed in on all sides by mountains 

Of shame and regret

But time is an erosion that sands down 

Himalayas of hurt into Appalachians

Of smoothed, half-forgotten nostalgias 

Hiding hollers of silly algebras 

No one has ever mastered

The snow capped peaks of the massif

Loom dauntingly in the distance,

Ever present, unignorable,

Framing the terminal extent

Of an insurmountable past. 

My base camp is a hole

In the middle of my head. 

If I go down I’ve failed

But the ascent is certain death.

I’m content to wait right here

Wrapped in layers of time 

While wind and rain grind away

And grind away

Until it’s just a range 

Of gently rolling hills

I’m certain I can climb.

2/10/25