How to Get to the Sky
At the head of any trail, I find myself
giving in to their call, this one along the West Fork of the Wallowa. It says ever
forward, ever higher, ever green. I used to like to think
I don’t give up easily, but this once
endless desire now lips a river shore that no longer seems mine. You see, my feet
don’t stay long enough in places to give
names, so I’ve been wondering what the Nez Perce word is for
everything.
Would their words tumble down this canyon a different story? This morning is
wild, all berry clutter and slate water rushing, runnels fray
like yarn ends, reaching for the lake’s quiet
exhale. Until then, they just want to be heard. I do wonder by who.
I start to holler, “Hey, Bear, Hey,” it sounds like dawn, new and never heard
before. My own voice listened to. Here’s the thing, I am
not afraid of bears, nor coming rain. I am afraid of wordlessness. Of silent,
unpronounceable things, unheard but in the heart, a muscle not unlike
the tongue, which you can teach to twist and bend like a trail, or talk.
Last night, I heard stories of the world’s richest man launching himself into space.
We said wicked, we said waste. But stories of a girl who tried
to touch the moon? Darling, even daring, her dreams. I’ve always followed
the call to the top, to the point, beyond the bend, to the
end. Once there, the land asks, But where did you come from? It will always
matter—the words used on the way back down. I assume this cascading
water yearns for the lap of the lake, but perhaps, some of it
routes into roots, slips earthward, along the way. Perhaps it gets to the sky
through the leaves.
Claire Cella grew up in the wilds of New York’s Catskill Mountains before moving west to become a graphic designer for a conservation nonprofit in a small Wyoming town. She likes to write poetry very early in the morning—a habit she developed many years ago as an undergraduate English student. Her poetry has appeared in Pilgrimage and Gleam, is forthcoming in Cream City Review and Deep Wild Journal, and was nominated for the Pushcart Prize in 2023. Among other things, she runs trails and lives in a tiny house.
