by Emily Hamm
The sun glares into my eyes,
A slight burn forms on my skin.
Wind blows across the irritation,
Like a rotten apology. An itch.
I climb up the Pine,
A mountain unlike any I have seen before.
Dirt erodes,
Disintegrating what was once a path.
Dry air breezes through the sparse trees.
Dust kicks into the air.
The taste of sand arrives on my tongue.
Mouthbreather.
I see a break in the path.
An opening.
To where?
A towering monolith stands on its own.
Menacing, reflective, isolated.
The structure is out of place, uncanny,
For a mountain trail.
My approach is hesitant,
My footsteps careful,
A silent request for permission.
I look into the polished surface and
See myself stare back.
Is this really me?
It appears to be.
But
Something is different, peculiar, off.
I turn my body towards the view of Atascadero. The reflection mimics me.
When I turn my body back,
I see the setting sun.
I have been here too long,
Or not long at all.
I feel that same itch and
Peel my skin.
Dark liquid oozes underneath.
It drips down my face,
into my eyes,
The brilliant stars shine brighter.
I have lost faith.
It will take too long to get back down this mountain.
I step closer to the monolith.
Peering in,
My reflection seems to have walked away.
What I should’ve done sooner.
I have nowhere to go.
Do I have anything left to lose?
I step into the monolith
Forever isolated atop this mountain.
Out of place. In place.
Looking at an infinite Atascadero for eternity.
Its ancient skyline mocks me.
The mountain holds me.
How foolish.
Atascadero
Welcome Home.
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