a descent into poetry insanity |
all you need is your backpack with trail mix and six bottles of water and your shoes old and comfortable so that the band-aids you take just to be safe are unnecessary and then you walk even though you came with five friends you walk alone up the trail back and forth forth and back resting at the end of every switchback until you reach the top which isn’t the top the portapotty is glaring blue against the desert and your friends pull you on—now the exciting part of the trail begins hold tight to the rail don’t look down on both sides the abyss and then more switchbacks these ones shallow rails and chains to pull you up the face of the cliff—grabbing toe hold so shallow you hit your chin with your knee but at the top you stand there where the angels must have stood when they carved out the mountains you are so high—so close to the clouds and the ground is so far below that you sit in the middle of Angel’s Landing while your friends take pictures and see how close to the edge they can inch and you eat a handful of trail mix and drink your third bottle of water knowing that all too soon you will head down again |