| At
the Survival General Store
|
| We begin each day with two dollars |
| and a choice: a loaf of bread, |
| or a map. And always we've chosen |
| a round wedge of warm sourdough |
| with thick crust, and enjoyed it |
| hunk by hunk, wandering the earth |
| under lit gray skies through which |
| we
could almost see tomorrow.
|
| Yesterday, hemmed by rock and ice, |
| we chose map for the first time, |
| and learned we were in Survival, |
| a semi-depressed mineral town |
| halfway between Payne and Salvation. |
| Accordingly we swiped a loaf, |
| ran for the cutoff, and entered |
| the trailhead that led to the pass. |
|
first published in Quarterly West |