when the world did not feel like a crushing weight

Jill Kitchen

in the black & white picture from the photobooth, we are laughing
to near tears, showing all of our chins. i can hear our snorts, see my hand
over my mouth. we didn’t feel steamrolled by the world then, did we?
not in that moment anyway. when did it shift? last night i dreamt
i was in montana again, 17 years old, about to start a 20-mile hike
uphill in the rain. i panicked to prepare, wrapping changes of clothes
in plastic, liner socks beneath the thicker wool, bandaids for the inevitable
blisters. sleepless in the tent because every raindrop was a bear, the bear
we had hidden our food from, trail mix & potato chips wrapped & hung
high in a tree. i had left my doc martens behind along with most of my CDs.
did i really see the trail, the way the sky hinged into cloudmist? did i know
then what a wonder it was to have a body that could climb & heave, plod
through any climate, sweat & breathe & carry on? i did not know yet.
all i knew was hunger and to follow the beat of footsteps ahead of me.