My traitor tongue whispers tales like windthrough mountain hollows, hugging teeth
like clouds that cradle snowy peaks. I’ve mappedthis topography in abundance, traced familiar trails
like lines inked by well-worn pen, stainleft to pool at base of storied waters. I’ve touched
these knees to dirt, legs bent like switchback on oldcountry roads, rooting fingers in mud rough enough
to leave nails piled like rocks in memorial,pointing at zenith: Ozark, Blue Ridge,
Appalachian—each peak a holein my sham geography.
Photo by Mitsuo Komoriya on Unsplash