BACKBONE TRAIL

by © E. Hitchcock Scott. November 2, 2021

Standing at the entrance

I see my initial carved in rock.

The labyrinth calls

and I stumble

around the lopsided circle

of my life

to my core self.

Is this all there is?

In the mirror of my grandmother’s

powder room, another gateway looms.

It is as if I stutter the same consonant

or word, over and over

in the reflections, like a Russian doll,

opening all the way down.

The Backbone Trail stands high

above the ocean.

I have backbone. I have stood

high, when I wanted to drown myself

in the cool, dark depths of the sea,

to breathe in the salts of death

to follow my love

to other dimensions

To avoid with passion

the alarm clock and traffic.

Columbus searched for riches

land, gold, fame, flesh.

How can I be so brave about death?

My whole life has been a revolving fool’s errand,

around a flattened eclipse

or a flat world.

Like a conquistador, I strike out for what cannot be seen,

with a compass that does not work,

an hour glass that cannot tell time,

and my telescope turns out to be a

single reflex, wide angle lens.

“Wound my heart with monotonous languor,”

a password, a code,

a secret announcement on the BBC,

“Ici, Londres”.

Do you understand me now?

The mystery is as important as science,

and people have more grief over

unexpressed love,

than they do about profound trauma.

At Chartre, the childrens’ gaze follow the old woman’s

broad gestures, their heads turn in unison

and their harmonious oohs and aahhs

sound like music filled with wonder.

So tell people you love them,

do not wait for the right time,

do not find excuses.

Be Brave, hike your Backbone Trail,

and shout love into the valley,

let the sound of your voice

echo across the mountains

and the seas.