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Sideling Hill

September 2, 2013

The highway cuts through the mountain—
not in a tunnel that was carved out of the
rock in a powerfully engineered straw—
but in a big V,
a little valley blasted out of the rock,
and I wonder as I drive through it
if the engineers raised a V for
victory sign when the last explosion
echoed out, and the space was
finally ready for clearing rubble
and paving the highway.

The walls of the V have several levels,
each with a small lip at the top
before the next level begins,
like on a wedding cake
or maybe in Donkey Kong.

In the levels,
different types of rock curve
in layers that speak of centuries—
time that seems to smirk at our
short drive through the mountains,
our short years climbing ladders
ever upward and jumping over
obstacles to defeat the angry gorilla
and rescue the girl and perhaps
marry her, and then place a plastic
copy of the happy couple at the top
of the tall wedding cake to show
guests they’ve made it to the top
of the mountain.

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One Comment leave one →
  1. September 2, 2013 11:25 am

    Will have a completely different view of such valleys in the future…a pleasant start to my week reading your poem.

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