On the mountain
surrounded by the safety of tall trees
thin, tall grass bowing in the summer breeze
scented by ponderosa vanilla
the flowing river, sharp, cold
The dry ground is my bed.
I am safe here.
Nobody can find me
I am free.
This is my spot, imagined many times over
this is setting of many a drafted story
the location of many dreams as I fall asleep.
When me is threatened
When anxiety trembles through my arms
when Neptunian fear settles in my chest
when my dad rages
declaring the sky purple and the grass red
he has declared you the receptacle
the place to unload all his self-hatred
until you disappear.
This is my escape.
When I fear for my self
when my body warns me of threats
(real or imagined or both)
I fly away and plant my feet in the mountains
deep as the oldest cedars.
There, I am safe.
Filed under: Abuse