Poetry by Brian Yapko
left knee buckling, hungry, thirsty, i fall
onto a carpet of sharp pine needles and
groan from the pain. lost among endless
brambles and branches, there is no clear
way back down and i know no one will
rescue me – not after the shouting, the
broken dishes, the explosive words that
are beyond forgiveness. truly lost. each
direction the same, endless trees the green
of envy, of tarnished bronze, of grimm
brothers witchery. i am haunted by sounds
that once enchanted but now threaten. i
lift a pine branch to serve as a crutch. i
check my dwindling water supply. i hold
my last bag of m&ms to my heart, thinking
the red-green-blue that melts in your mouth
not in your hand will be my last meal
on earth. hot tears. like a savage i pound
my chest and. rip my shirt. i drop onto the
dirt pondering every soul who has wounded
those he loves and then fled up to the
mountains. were any of them as regretful
as i? three long days, no cell reception,
no sign of humans. i think of lost friends
and find the fossil of a trilobite. it lived
right here eons ago. this mountain was
once at the bottom of the sea though it
now trespasses among the clouds. what
tectonic force raised it skywards? and why
do i shout, slam doors, climb mountains
and then weep away what little water i
have left? i put the fossil in my pocket.
if i want to live i must begin the hike down
to the plain below. it looks as far as the
craters of the moon. i will go back down
anyway. even though i’m not sure i want to.
Brian Yapko is a lawyer whose poems have appeared in multiple publications, including Prometheus Dreaming, Cagibi, Poetica, Grand Little Things, Hive Avenue, the Society of Classical Poets, Chained Muse, Tempered Runes, Garfield Lake Review, Sparks of Calliope, Abstract Elephant and others. His debut science fiction novel, El Nuevo Mundo, will be published in Summer 2022 by Rebel Satori Press. He lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
