Why I Came To The Mountains

I came here to hide.

It worked.

80 miles from the nearest WalMart,

over-priced everything,

and if they plow the roads where I live,

they plow them last.

I'm not sure what it was, finally,

that sent me here.

It seemed I could not shut

the windows in my head,

and in came civilization, or its shadow,

organizing grief around the world,

selling it for half-off

at the mall, breathing and exhaling it

on the freeway, shooting it

and shooting it up on the street,

launching it into space,

downloading it from the internet,

proclaiming it the king

of kings. And the hate,

and the heat,

and the stories of it -

dogs in the street,

you can't see the kids anymore,

no money for the doctor,

stealing for Christmas

from the dollar store,

daddies running down the alley,

helicopters screaming their names in the sky.

And then one day my students, for fun,

kicked a cow to death

in her stall.

I grabbed what I could and got out.

How do you run from the world?

I didn't know.

I pulled toward the Earth, and she pulled back.

Even now, as I drive into town,

I am drawn closer to the road,

and the Sugar Pines lean in.