From Ingraham Flats
–on Mt. Rainier
Like an animal, she followed
in the night. A lone
headlamp stalking—
mouths of ice gaping
open—crevasses—visible screams,
our breath a rising
fog—ragged life, warm
droplets. I don’t know what
she sought—the only certainty:
the clatter
of crampons, metal grinding rock
and ice—the crunch
of ice axes
cleaving—
to the tether
between our bodies, my hand
bony wing on animal shoulder,
drawing back from black abyss. The desire
to live electric.
The desire
to die like an animal,
consumed by the great
indifference, a stalking, eerie light.
Natalie Callum is a writer and poet living between St. Louis, Missouri and Wyoming. When she is not writing, she can be found outside free-climbing and exploring with her much beloved husband. Her most recent work has been published in Willawaw Journal and North Dakota Quarterly.
