The Call of the Mountains

By Pandora Peoples

I have heard tell
That elk on your porch
In the morning
Is a fertility omen
And that mountains are capable
Of enlisting the service of wombs
To carry the progeny of elemental star beings,
Who are keepers of ancient knowledge,
And stewards of the sacred lands

I have this urge to pick up my skirt
And walk due west
Through mud, snow, and swamp,
Until the soles of my feet
Are like moccasins
And the rhythm of my feet
Dance to the drumming heart
At the center of the earth,
While the fire in my belly is strong
And the musky nectar of the black morning
Intoxicates every cell of my sojourning body

I will walk the Trail of Tears
And sleep on the fields of forgotten dreams
Where the rubble of homesteaders grows thick with weeds,
Listening to the ghosts of passenger trains,
I will confront the battles of medicine men
Taking up arms
In the flickering fire of my camp before day break,
With one eye open on tomorrow,
Piercing whistles and chugging engines
Will punctuate my dreams,
And I will awake with the taste of succotash in my mouth
With the sweet smell of sarsaparilla lingering
In the chilling first light

Up through wooded hills,
Down into moist valleys
Shin-deep in ponderosa pine needles,
I will wash in trickling streams
Munching on rose hips,
Shavegrass and the new shoots of tender ferns,
Falcons and eagles will check in on me
From time to time
And crows will steer me away from falling rocks

The buzzing afternoon
Will bleach my skirt
As I nap half in the shade of the thorny chaparral,
Snakes will coil and snap at spotted lizards
And a family of box turtles will lead me to water,
A coyote will stare me down,
A fox will sniff a puddle of my making,
Bats will flitter and flap overhead,
I will breathe in the desert sage,
And I will light a token fire in the sand,
An offering to the bright constellations
Pulsating with life from light years away

The fullness of my being
Will shed into the cool, smooth earth,
Fertilizing a blooming cactus nearby
With my uterine silver lining,
I will march through cornfields
Lounge under cottonwoods,
Meander over willows leaning into lakes,
Grope through groves of Maples at midnight,
And when I reach where the Pinyon Pine
Meets the alpine tundra,
I will climb that tree
Like a koala bear,
And perching in the top branches,
I will sing
To the eerie mating calls of the elk