I don’t leave my head, but it seems you are on a mountain
with just your camera.
You climbed it without a crew, or safety gear.
Your mother didn’t know.
I ask myself if the other side of the street would be safer,
I wonder if it’s worth the extra turn of the block
to see what really happens there.
Then I find you are under the ocean with a turtle,
deciding if his foot is okay, or if the jewels
on the bottom are real.
Sometimes I’ll stand before the pesto chicken,
each day I have grilled,
and when it’s my turn I give the same words in the same order;
an alphabet of lunch.
I heard you just climbed a tree to taste the native fruit,
then sliced it into thin strips with some meat cured by centuries of one family.
I would picture that in my head, too,
if there were room.
Photo credit: picture is of Courtney Luing …taken by Olivia Isbell
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