love your mother

By Anna Pollock

 


I never knew I loved the mountains

‘Till I went to a place where there were none.

And then I couldn’t stand the sight

Of a bare horizon, roasting silently

Under the devilish sun. 

Mother says: I’m getting sick, see.

Running a fever in this stifling heat,

Dust in my lungs and now I can’t breathe.

And then the mountains were holy to me

Like a guardian watching and worthy of prayer.

In the dead of December I took a drive up

And all alone I breathed in the quiet,

The thrill of the summit in wintry air. 

And Mother says: There used to be snow here.

Before I got sick and the fever took over. 

It’s quiet December and I’m stuck in the summer. 

Immersed in love for the blue-grayish mountains

I stood at the edge of the summit’s rock crown.

The crisp snowless air seemed a portent to me

And I wondered aloud, what would happen

If Mother brought the mountains down?