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?