last Monday we slid down the dune a little
but never enough to stop us, and each step
took us slowly, beautifully, up.
Not like the time I first climbed
a different dune without my father,
a different dune without my father,
when six feet took six years,
and the sand of my steps filled his grave
as I staggered up a haunting hill that
crumpled with every step.
and the sand of my steps filled his grave
as I staggered up a haunting hill that
crumpled with every step.
Even as my son and I conquered
this Memorial Day climb
I grieved for a young friend who was that same day finding no solace in memories,
her steps filling her cousin's grave as she numbly climbed a
steep, lonely, and crumpling path.
Vince and I climb.
We sit.
We rest.
We start again.
We ache.
We persevere.
This much I can do with you, too,
my weary, heartbroken friend who also climbs dunes.
(For TG, climber of dunes)
