For the grit of it.


Shaking heartbeats vibrate my ribcage

the purple mountains, stoic and neutral, watch this mortal struggle

The cantaloupe alpenglow settles the magic hour debate

30 feet above me, He hangs casually in his harness, smiling down

“Come bring me that pail of water”, he urges my insides to smile

Keep climbing

keep grunting

The hell with my ego

I’m starving, and this humble pie satiates my deep- belly pride

Why do I do this? I hate this.

Did I yell that through the canyon?

Briefly I pan out of my body

The soundtrack to my jagged upward haul is laced with expletives from

some deep, guttural wolf inside of my throat.

This moment.

How it squeezes my toes.

How my head space breathes bigger to make room for mind maneuvers

How my hair catches in this belay device

A sharp knife cuts me free

Adrenaline fuels this rappel

Crack a celebratory beer on the dusty ground. My chalky fingernails barely grip the tab.

The cold rush of bubbles remind me that this is being present.

I watched in the truck side mirror on the drive home

my bruised and battered hands surf the night thermals

living on the razors edge.

That was fun, he says. Wanna do it again tomorrow?



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