Pitch, and: Resolve

Abstract

Pitch No one in Clark Fork, Idaho, mistakes endurance for the palomino stagnant in his cottonwood swamp of camper shells and black plastic. The first university's a hundred miles away. Pickups cluster their empty cattle and ladder racks around the Chevron of realistic expectations as loads of sub-alpine spruce roll downshifting testimonials from the furthest edge of elevation. The wood's lowgrade. But the chainsaws sing from the hills a full-throated song of omnivorousness. The timbered slope rises steep as night from the edge of town. Tin roofs. Dead fireweed. Deer-fenced gardens. Night itself comes in gray. There is so much for us to give ourselves again when we are weary to descend the switchbacks. So much to take when we see headlights high and tiny on the mountain. [End Page 152] Meanwhile the grizzly is stone to the stove smoke smell of it all. She cannot curse. Vagrant heart, she pushes her fat shoulders higher into the last of what we haven't taken. Resolve Boiling with worry he went out into the day even when it was sunny. Please release me, circumstances, he'd pray, and keep my loves safe on the curb from every head-crushing tire. Kill the bacteria before it can breed. Walk the killer on past their doors, blade folded in his pocket. O let their lab results come back base-line. Protect them. He promised he'd appreciate the trees, inspect them for new life and lift his eyes to the music of rows of old houses, snow baking on the black-shingled roof of every porch, he'd walk with hands in his pockets and a happy sigh for the morning and those in it, passing slowly in unwashed cars that glimmer a little anyway, he'd remember that somewhere some were in actual agony, every comfort denied them by design, he'd be grateful and kind at every random encounter – eye contact and at least a smile and nod, he'd look forward to lunch, another meal for him in this life of abundance, he'd forgive his enemies, and he'd ask forgiveness for all he'd missed while imagining the torch someone could touch to his bright fields of affection, [End Page 153] if only he could be given some reassurance, a sign that they, those who knew what goodness he was capable of when unafraid, would go on.