Sierra Madre
A homecoming
Scarred by passing years, and recalled to a terrain of memory
Following a river's course as it winds back to a beginning
Back to a place of sheltering from winter's dark rain that fell in torrents from cold gray skies
And endless barefoot summers spent wandering alone through rough local flora across a rugged range of hot dried-out red-brown earth
Alone, but for a host of wonderful beasts, the dangerous and the benign.
The rolling hills and steep canyons obscured the din of the world
Their young nurtured in a cradle of insular solitude
Only those of ambition climbed to the highest hilltops in favor of broader vistas
The hills are smaller now
Easily ascended
But the expanse remains a potent reminder of a familiar longing and pining and
loving from a distance that which lies in dreams beyond the dust and brush of the horizon.
Given long enough, loss is always outsized in life's equation
A reeducation in cycles and singularity
I mourn for them, who in presence and absence raised me
And wait in line to know the answers myself
Is it unanimous that acts of atonement are necessary?
I cast a stone into the passing water
Say a long goodbye
And surrender myself to the lulling rhythm
of the night song of crickets and stars.
—Blaise Rosenthal, 2024
