Mitch and Nat and Cheryl

" This is Nat," Mitch smiled, proudly.

Early Spring, the sun barely intruding the childhood home,
Joining the welcome back.
A conversation followed,
Though Nat and Mitch were oblivious as mole rats.

Nat, caught the spangly thank yous
Flowing like diamonds from Cheryl's lips.
" I am the source," they said, more, warned.
But Nat, was watching Mitch, and
Mitch was,

Climbing La Quebrada again
And it didn't matter his bare feet,
The crowd,
The sickening fear or,
The sheer lunacy of it all because,

His head was an endorphin kiln
He was alive,
Nat was The Word, and The Word was Nat.

His heart was hers and hers and hers
And she had taken it
Smoothed the creases,
Stashed it. Shielded it.
The air rushed from the waves forcing upwards to his tiny ledge.

One inhale.
One exhale.
No need to overthink.

So he jumped,
With every glance she cast,
For the white light adrenaline
For the sweet silence as he broke the Widowmaker depths,
Capturing that calm eternity,
To long for it.

Cheryl knew this,
Her son had found his peace,
Or was hitchhiking to insanity
Either way,
Whether knowingly or not,
He was already mostly there.

Poetry by Cowtrotter
Read 50 times
star mini Editors' choice
Written on 2023-03-18 at 00:15

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one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
This is remarkable and transportive. Definitely a mini-vacation for the senses.