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by Steven Petersheim

Nestled in the mountains –
how’s that for a false start?
For mountains, they say, do not
nestle, but only allow us to live,
at least these mountains do.
So living in the mountains
with cows and chickens and people
scattered here and there – or is it
“there and here,” since I no longer live
in those mountains? I want to go home,
but I’ve been told I cannot
by voices older than my own,
by many far wiser than me? I don’t stop,
for I will go home to the mountains
that once nestled me even though
mountains, they say, do not nestle.
And if you want to find me
nestling there, I suggest
looking not only at the cows
and birds and bees but also to the woods
thick with trees that have fallen
thumping even in my absence,
so my mother tells me. I am not
the center of the universe, but I am
surely part of it still.

 

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