The mountains welcomed me, “You’re back!” and promised me they’d have my back, should some Great water way — or two — recede, retreat, or otherwise act as cowards for too, too long.
Oh, harim, how they cried to me, spoke truth to me, “Here’s Jenny, an ally to thee.” At once the Sun shone once again, as I embraced my Westward friend.
Her shores were rocky, her waters cold. But I, at midpoint, felt less old — and trampled — then. And my ears acquiesced.
For t-w-e-n-t-y years before, life’s fog obscured Jenny’s lore. She sang it then, she sang it now: “Courageous woman, to the path you’ve chosen, the mountains bow.”
I plan to lament, to pity-party, to languish-unapologetic-like, the daylong, in regret and angst.
When dawn of some new era calls, I’ll hear it’s hearken, I’ll know it’s finally time I arise from the rain and fog.
‘Til that day, you’re cursed, Mountain, you’re soul-sold, Hollow, you’re a kind woman’s Relic and Shame.
She is not He
Nor an It or an If She is Where It’s At, Has Always Been, and Forever More Will Be
Where If Goes To Become
She is Where He Needs To Be Attending To
She Really Is
She Is Peaches and Mittens
August Fire, Mountain Avalanche
She Is Baseball and Criminal There’s no more Not Knowing Such Love
She Is Leading Me
I summoned you so hard
So in earnest
Sent out all my Super-she energy
With such sheer-will
With mountainous hope
Which always worked so well for me
But found only my own enlightenment
It can only be the powers that be
Felt fit to see
You find yourself
Sandy-haired, please find yourself