DRUGS Poem: Oh Be Joyful, by Jessica Wierzbinski

The Slate River is rage-cascading
down these stark black slabs
splitting herself on sharp hewn boulders
every second
spilling over as froth and rushing
onward as if nothing happened
And this
every day
not just the ones some
city dweller like me happens to take
a day off from the usual grind
to notice,
calling suddenly suspect yestermoment’s
chance encounter I’d credited with having
saved my soul.
I only ate enough mushrooms to be given
over, somewhat, to awe;
Not enough for a truly
religious experience.
Still, all this!
Dislodge my metal bottle
and the careful architecture of my pack
preserves its spot for easy reinsertion;
I’d mistrusted myself enough to have
thought of everything in advance.
Wild raspberries
and tiny, high-mountain strawberries reward
my new-keened observation with a sweetness
unforeseen,
–and suddenly unmerited
it seems.
Better to leave the forest’s fruits
for some wilder creature, one who does not carry
her lunch on her back
or time her trip to trail’s length.
Aw who the hell do we think we are
or need to be?
Coloradoans march by, their packs heavy
with lightweight everything one might need.
Having “bagged” their fourteener, they caution me
in passing of storms approaching; turn back.
I amble on, gel-lackadaisically
through lichen-speckled rock outcroppings.
I nod to the trees, or bow deeply, as the psilocybin urges,
and smile to the passing conquistadors
relieved that I
am blithely not married to summit,
not even to saddle,
that a walk in the woods
is still quite simply thrilling.

Author: poetryfest

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