Wetland March

The only wilderness I’ve known is tall grass, swishing

against unshaven legs, bugs twitching their way

through the blades, away from the body’s intrusion.

I’ve seen a cicada uncase itself, startled by the desperate

electric shame they emit. I am lost to myself aside from my

bent body’s reflection rippling over water, trying to make sense

of what is seen. I am lost to myself aside from standing in bulrush,

eyes closed, wishing on endless seeds for a recognizable self. I am lost

to myself aside from looking up in the midst of trees towering taller

than I thought possible, my own body so inescapably scant.

But the awe wears off, given enough time. A nine hour trek

makes everything new. Makes the world smaller than before

you traversed it. My legs refuse to carry me far, lock tight, send signals

I’ve learned to ignore. My body follows my will in pursuit of other’s

pride. My body’s punishment follows suit. My spine relents

under the weight of my failing body, curves low, trembles.

The rush of wind from a great height feels like a far off whisper.

A memory left so long I wonder if it was only a dream.

I’ve known a loose foothold better than a tight grasp.

Questioned ivy & ticks & mosquitoes & leeches.

The only wilderness I’ve known is rushing water, open-faced

rockside blurring in my peripheral. Steep drops

above & below. The sky indescribable

as anything but wide open. Stars so bright I dream

of catching them. Reaching up & making them mine.

The awe wears off given enough time. I have too much

& not enough of it, same as the rest of you.