this is my heart.*
there are many like it,
but this one is mine.
without me, my heart is useless;
without my heart, I am useless.
the heart can be carried inside a ribcage, thankfully -
my pack was too full to accommodate it. sixty-two miles
of life jostled across my shoulders.
light crept soft and unstoppable.
from Maverick we looked out upon a Venus world -
haze, impossible canyons, ghostly mountain apparitions
and only a frigid breeze to remind us
that the sun was far away.
Scott and I drew blood on Hi-Yu.
I called it “good luck” when the yellowjackets struck.
we wondered if vomiting or blisters would constitute
“even better luck”
and then decided we had no need for luck.
Klone Peak allowed us space
to stop and understand
that we were truly “out there”
before we were flushed in an endless undertow
from sky to river,
or were we going deeper?
to see if Satan really was encased in ice
after all?
when we reached the river Styx, our pockets
were discovered to be empty.
coins of silver and gold had proven too heavy for the journey.
Charon would not let us cross.
he pointed us back toward Purgatory,
and for hours we climbed.
Sarah and I ascended step for step,
sympathizing with Sisyphus,
knowing we too would never stop
rolling the stone uphill
just to watch it tumble down,
unable to resist the chase.
no sentry guarded Cougar Creek,
so I snuck across
just to see what was on the other side.
light began to flee on feeble wings
as I said goodbye to Maverick for the second time.
soon the long dance would end
while the longer dance began.
“this is my heart.”
and this is my backpack, once again jostling
with new life.
the infinite cold dark infected my tendons.
the “process” slowed
until a tree trunk cradled my head and I closed my eyes.
were it not for the instant shivering of mind and body,
I may have remained.
three merry Musketeers appeared through the cloak of night
and I hung as best I could, riding on coat-tails
of good humor so great that when they disappeared around a corner,
I became immediately sure they were mirages.
sleep (that siren) would come and go
and claim one or another of our party as we wound back toward home,
and in the blue haze of morning we said our goodbyes.
I had no water; equally empty was my reservoir
of desire to remain. so I ran.
I displayed my heart to the final gatekeeper,
then I tossed that gray, scarred mound of flesh into the dust
and proceeded empty.
*this phrase was our password to proceed through SAR check-points along the course. It is a modified version of "this is my rifle" from The Rifleman's Creed
