I Cut My Finger
In the process of figuring out the logistics of going to the Kootenays again -- in October and again in March. I had an amazing time there last spring. This time I've been invited to Nelson and Castlegaar in the fall, and back to New Denver in the spring. I hate making travel arrangements -- turns me into a neurotic mess. So I'll put it off just a little longer. Here's the poem I wrote for distribution in New Denver, Nakusp, Cranbrook, and Kimberley on the last trip, where I did workshops in schools and readings in the communities.
Over and out.
I CUT MY FINGER
A mountain was on the ground.
I don’t know how it got there, probably a thing
regarding the earth.
I walked up it quick but it was high
and took a long time. I thought
maybe Mom and Dad and Owen would be there,
or at least floating above it.
Oh the adventures I had climbing,
let me recount them (in case I counted
wrong the first time). Numerous
calendar pages flipped by
like in a movie you saw,
and then I was on top.
I tried calling Dana but there wasn’t any phone
and I cut my finger dialling
a rock. The bad thing was
there was nobody up there,
and nobody floating above.
Not even a store when I felt like Chiclets.
But I could feel my tired brain wobbling,
and I sat down and got ready to think:
and then I thought: I thought that for me
mountains are big solid things poking into the air,
like at god, but for people for who solid
is the absence of solid,
then they’ve got upside-down mountains
pointing down at earth.
I rested a bit,
then came back down.
6-7 April 2005