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White Hills

   Posted by: Athena
in poems, Road tripping, The business of living
12
Dec

White hills, shadowed blue with cold.

Resting passive, laden with winter.

Silent acceptance of all that is.

No complaints against the inevitability of time.

Yesterday I drove to Heber City with D to pick up an order for the shop.  We were on the road fairly early and I watched out the passenger window of the van as the landscape rolled by, feeling nostalgic. My coffee burned my finger but I didn’t really care.  I was more interested in the beauty I’d forgotten this part of the country can have. 

It’s different than the winters of Alaska, or Portland.  This land has a dogged determination of will exerted by the settlers for the last hundred and fifty years.  Farm land broken up by fields and crosshatched with the energy of generations of stories. 

It’s not the magical realm of possibilities like Alaska, where the land hasn’t been touched.  It’s not the tentative truce of the land around Portland and its human residents.  The land here is shaped and while that’s at once depressing it also contains a little bit of awe. 

It was one of those days where my mind went to far away places and lingered in other times.  I got home last night and cried.

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I remember

   Posted by: Athena
in poems, Uncategorized
19
Nov

I remember.

I remembered in the depth of sleep, your tongue upon my skin.  I remembered your breath in my ear and you body slipping into mine.  I remembered on the verge of dream and waking how I screamed and arched against you, not fully awake, not near enough to oblivion.  I remembered it all as though it were real – as though you still loved me – as though it happened yesterday and not a thousand years ago.

A thousand years ago.

And then I woke – on fire with your face in my mind and the idea of you pulsing in my chest.  How could my heart play such a trick on me? How could my body be so cruel?

I remember. 

I loved you enough to let you kill me – point blank, without question or hesitation.  I stood there trusting as you fired to save yourself.  I remember the look of relief on your face and the weight with which my body hit the floor. 

I hate you, Fucker.  Go back to the hell where you were forged and leave me to my new life.  You are nothing to me anymore, but a residue.  A reflexive spasm in my body like the dying twitch before eternal sleep. 

You’re but a memory… from a thousand years ago.  

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