Blue-like, a blue like a mollusk melting
in air
A thin air, an air in which whips
my mouth and nose and ears, that
assaults them
in a funny way, a gentle way
I
think the air is saying why
Did you come to the Himalayas? Why are
you here?
And the others all trudging up my side?
But I did not
care. I did not take a care card with me
on the trip.
When
I was planning
the trip I was on beach reading a book.
A book about
Himalayas because before I thought it
was just a word
like salt. And I was on the beach and I
saw a blue
Mollusk and I thought of the pink salt
and felt
sane. And safe!
But
it was not safe. There was a chance of
my carcass freezing to the mountain.
Clinging to the
mountain like a tongue to a poll. Like
the shock of
how painful it is and the instant regret
like nothing else.
Like the air. The thinness of the air.
The veil of it. Like
I was marrying the horror of dying alone
on a hostile
mountain that did not want me. That did
not care.
I
left my confidence on the
beach. Who was I to deal with nature
like that. I only
studied danger in passing. Like the
bubbling waves
before a tsunami and standing in the
doorway during
an earthquake and hiding in the cellar
during a tornado.
But
Did
I really care to learn. No.
I did not really care to learn. I did
not really care
for much at all.
the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan
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