climbing that mountain

memories triggered
in the smallest spaces
jarred and unwound
by the fingers of passing strangers
and then i see the black,
flip-flops and my hurried tracks
my heart beating to beat the sun
rising above the clouded scenery
mountains and desert and cactus.

i, climbing that mountain
the only way to live
in memories triggered
donning my *flip-flops
the clipping of my feet,
like deer, i gracefully ascend
and there lies
suspended in mystery,
my friend the sun.

(*i forgot my hiking boots on a trip last year and i won’t forget my boots this year. Hiking in flip-flops, i am sure quite a sight, but i wasn’t going to miss that mountain and sun.)


Memoir Photography Poetry

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