by Beth Copeland
On the eleventh month of the pandemic,
I wake up and think, I’m tired
of seeing the same view from my window every day.
The mountain is beautiful,
transformed by the sun’s slant, the density of fog
or clouds, and ever-changing
weather, but it never moves. It’s always here,
rooted in bedrock,
and sometimes I wish I could see waves with gulls
and watch the ocean change from turquoise
to green to oyster gray.
If I could feel the salt wind on my face! If I could go
anywhere—even the desert —there’s
beauty in the shifting sands and painted rocks
of arid landscapes.
Even to be in a city—trains, cars, buses, and people
rushing to get to work
with kinetic energy! Is being a woman who wants
too much like being
a mountain that doesn’t budge? To be a body of water
instead of earth. A body of air.
When you’re always there like Polaris, people take you
for granted as I sometimes
take this mountain for granted and long to go
somewhere else—not to stay
but for a dalliance or brief affair—knowing
the mountain is mine
and will be here when I return, unmoving, moored.
My shelter, my shrine.
Beth Copeland is the author of three full-length poetry books: Blue Honey, recipient of the 2017 Dogfish Head Poetry Prize; Transcendental Telemarketer; and Traveling through Glass, recipient of the 1999 Bright Hill Press Poetry Book Award. She owns and operates Tiny Cabin, Big Ideas™, a residency for writers in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Kim McNealy Sosin is an Emerita Professor of Economics at the University of Nebraska Omaha. Her post-retirement interests include writing and photography. Her poems and photographs have appeared in Fine Lines, Failed Haiku, Daily Haiga, Voices from the Plains, Landscape Magazine, The Heron’s Nest, Wanderlust Journal, Ekphrastic Review, Global Poemic, and Sandcutters.