The other side of this mountainis not the mountain. This sideis honey-golden, sticky-sweet,full of phone conversations with mother.The other side is a bell,ringing in the church-steeplethe day mother died.
The other side of the mountainis not a mountain. It is a darkvalley crossed by a river.There is a ferry at the bottom.
This mountain is not a mountain.I walked to the top, but it turnedand was only a shelf halfway up.I felt like an unused Biblesitting on a dusty pew.
A hawk soars over the mountain.She is looking for home.