Stop Wishing

if the earth could be fair instead of indifferent. if the universe could be warm instead of cold.

if, when my hands reach inside, they could pull out sharp-edged wisdom instead of viscera.

stop wishing.

stop wishing and go stand at the base of the mountain. feel the ghost of every lahar that raged down its side.

thousands. millions.

trees, rocks, flora, fauna, glacial melt mixing into a slurry that repaints the landscape into shades of grey.

tears away the old and lays a new foundation until one day it too is torn away and replaced by the next slurry.

stop wishing and listen instead for the lahars.

they coat the inside of your skull with ash.

in this way you carry your ancestors.

in this way you witness.

stop wishing.