Up here

(Idaho, September 2024)

Can you hear it?
as the darkness takes the mountains
neighbors hold their porch railings
balancing on the top step with toes curled
guzzling from limescaled glassware

We look out to the horizon and exhale
in different directions
it’s unplanned, lucky maybe
we are weary from a summit
worried about our children
missing the dead
we don’t keep up with everything

The air tastes like autumn 
living so far from the ocean
our breath comes in waves
a forgotten reply lingers on our consciences 
engines cooling go tick tick tick

At this elevation 
our privilege is undetectable to us
the stairs lift us from the driveway

We plan to paint our front door
and eat organic vegetables 
dogs bay at slow, loud, gurgling trucks
taking workers to bunk in trailers
we quietly cling to our ignorance 
and hope for more

The mountains are dark now
we imagine the forests are black at night
that’s wrong

Reluctant to turn inside our homes
a pile of dishes wait  in the sink
for a moment we forget our age
forget the day of the week, but
we can’t stop worrying about our children