Validation in a Sunset

My heart is calling, and I am Woman compelled

to answer it- long distance, from a land line

of some private residence where I allowed it

to retire- some long-forgotten wilderness

retreat that my ancestors carved as pioneers

of better living. When we know the destructive

power of dust, there is nothing left except to let

the ocean kiss the mountain summits- those barren

places where winds are so strong that trees only grow

at crooked angles in fantastical shapes; each a child’s

drawing in the mist of what adulthood sounded like

when his parents abandoned him. Is it enough?

 

I can feel my desire seeking validation in a single

perfect sunset. I am fiercely observed by the falcons

whose cliffs my climbing disturbed, yet curiously

beneath the notice of coyotes. They do not cry for

me. I have deeply loved twice now- once the traveler,

then the cultivator of small joys. Each gives me a part

of what the other can or will not. I examine my feet,

and find I am part of each. I want a hand to hold when

I put on hiking boots, and a warm hearth to come home

to. I desire a love only as unreasonable and complicated

as my own incidence. Ask any arborist- a tree always

buffeted by heavy winds, grows deeper roots.

 

My heart is calling, telling me there are more

mountains I must know like lovers’ bodies. I used

to have its contour map sketched on my hand,

but it got washed off after years of disuse. There

are more sunsets to taste. A mind that thinks maybe

my breasts are perfect. An interior landscape where

the wildness of my nature is invited through closed

doors to be exalted, later, celebrated. A place where

flowers grow through cracks in serpentine and shale.

 

Author's Note

inspired partly by John Muir's quote "The mountains are calling and I must go"