Mt Trashmore

I come to the mountain to renew my soul.
This mountain was once a heap of trash.
I come to the trees to feel my pulse.
These trees are short and thinly rooted.
I come to the water to be purified.
This water is toxic runoff.
I look to the birds for freedom’s song.
These birds squawk, tied to this geography.
I seek wholeness and connection in Nature.
This fractured manufactured landscape
leaves me wanting for more.


I cannot be in the Smokies.
I cannot touch the Hemlocks.
I cannot drink mountain springs.
I cannot glimpse the eagle.

I am here in Coastal Virginia.
I am here in the corporate job.
I am here with a mortgage.
I am here.

So I come to Mount Trashmore in Virgina Beach,
Hoping for some reflection of the glorious Sun
In the hill that covers years of refuse
And offers a kiter wind,
And is host to coastal birds, fighting for a scrap
And sings of highway noises,
And skateboarders fly
While snow geese gather
On their way to southern streams.