People Tell Me That I Look Like Someone Else
Wind swarmed up the canyon. He hammered his fears to the earth with tent pegs,
holding his straw hat tight against his head in the evening light. Cold in the warm wind,
he buried deep in a foolish fear that came on out of season, out of loss, out of character.
A million tiny reasons surrounded him and years later a deeper sorrow
brought him home to this mountain again. He breathed harder as he climbed, a reflection
of age now, not despair, and he stood quietly while the world seemed to forget him.
He laughed and something listened. A plume of smoke rose from a nameless ridge.
He urged the burning back.
And then he wept, clinging to the long fire swarming across the past he had
dragged into the present. It consumed him, hungrier than he had imagined, and he had to
He raged farther than the valley of crying, the mountain burning and the air
escaping, the sky. And he ate his soul and came down. And his body kept on looking for
the delicate fragile pain that keeps us.
Rich Ives is the author of Tunneling to the Moon: A Psychological Gardener’s Book of Days currently being published in serial @ Silenced Press everyday in 2014 and forthcoming in paperback. Begin from the beginning, catch up, read daily. Just refer to the Burrow Guide.