Poetry
Techniques for Becoming a Mountain / Debbie Lim
After Helen Mort
Photo by Sergi Ferrete on Unsplash.
It’s easy enough to become a mountain.
Simply meditate on the invisible
point beyond their faces. Soon attentions
like crampons will loosen, you’ll hear
brittle-ant voices slip and fall away
like scree. You must remain perfectly still
until new mists rise off your shoulders,
your hips roll down to stony flanks,
your hair acquires the rope-like qualities
of gorse. When your once-warm cheek
keeps re-forming a slow lick of ice,
you’ll know you’re not far from your
impervious zone. At some stage you may
notice that your shoes have filled
with rocks. But there is no need to travel
anymore and now your body trawls
a dress of dark moraines. Ignore rumours
of children tucked deep in blue crevasses.
That singing is the sound the wind makes
blown through your empty fissures.
Regard the smallest, most unassuming
stone. Every mountain must learn to minimise
sudden movements, expansive gestures.
Bivouac your heart above the tree line—
never look down.