Angela Allyn

You can

in fact

chisel a mountain

into a hill.

With tiny brushes,

time 

and tenacity.

These days tho,

I am a modern

Sisyphus

Climbing back

up the mountain

with creaky knees

And an aching back,

tired, bruised, blistered

and bloody

Again today

I’ve been dodging 

falling boulders

pushing my own dear rock up

the craggy slope

for months now.

There is beauty, yes

In the tiny plants and lichen

And the hawks overhead.

I keep reminding myself

To take in the view

and to

Breathe.

Why, every day,

do I

begin the task

again?

Because I am

exactly

the fool

Who believes

somehow

In the grace

of

Getting On With It.

And so I do.