Still a work in progress...any title ideas?

I intend to work on this more, but now I need to go to bed, so I'll post what I've got for the day. This is the poem that I excerpted from before. I think when it's done it will be half as long--see, I can do "process" snapshots too, like Adam! ;-)

* * *

We thought we might make it to the top of Echo mountain to watch the sunset.

The sun was cozying down for the night even as we set foot on the Sam Merrill trailhead.

January sunset heat in Alta Dena,

me quickly sweating under my light borrowed jacket.

We talked as we walked. She had nannied for a know-

it-all 9-year-old for whom the response to every statement was “OBviously.”

We laughed about that, about the jadedness of youth,

about needing everyone to know how smart he already was.

The sun going down too fast, careless, sloshed

pink and orange toward us, all over the sky.

I wanted to see it from the top,

wanted to run but

paralyzed

by the paint-dripping clouds

soft and blurry overhead,

sharp in the distance,

smog reddening the distant city’s cheeks

as though it might cry.

It’s okay, I wanted to say,

the stars will clean it up

I wanted to run up the mountain, worried about missing the climax

but I needed to stop and take in the sun from each lookout point on the way

I settled for a brisk walk up, pausing when the beauty made me pause,

knowing that each moment I enjoyed from the mountainside

was costing me a moment bathed in light at the top.

knowing the show that was so overwhelming right here

would be even better from somewhere else.

I mentioned my torment to my friend and she said

“a perfect midlife moment.”

I said

“The symbolism wasn’t lost on me”

and thought to myself,

“OBviously.”

I ran ahead of her, wanting to see the sun’s final descent from the peak.

I saw I wouldn’t make it.

I saw the bottom of the sun squeezing in as it worked its way below the far-off ridge

Quick progression from mango, to lemon, to tic-tac

I turned my head to see if my friend would catch up to me to share

the last moment of light

turned my head back to see that I had missed its demise.

All that stress of positioning, and in my angling to get the moment just right, I missed it.

The symbolism isn’t lost on me.

OBviously.

I was already writing this poem in my head.

Can I tell you? I have been having a problem with Facebook. It has a compelling and stimulating grip on my hand; I scroll for hours when I mean to stay five minutes. I have been noticing my thoughts change, get antsy, hungry for new dopamine spikes.

Standing and simply watching the sunset has become so hard.

I am standing there watching the beauty but also

already imagining how I will describe it

to a friend or a poem

looking for another place to watch it from

Wondering who I should bring to this magical place next time to share this moment

that I’m not even having because I’m so busy telling myself the story

of the time I walked up the mountain with my friend

to try to see the sunset.

I hadn’t brought my journal. My friend said,

“take notes on your phone!”

So I pulled it out

no longer having the experience, but ignoring the experience so that I could document the experience

It occurs to me that writing is a human disease:

the tyranny of stopping to write down the thing

I was full of it, holding it in my arms, nowhere to put it down.

My three-year-old and I had the following conversation the other night while he was on the potty, after I had finished making up a story for him.

He said “Mama, after you tell a story, it just goes Puff out of you, right?”

Flinging his hands away from his mouth to demonstrate

I said “Yeah, it goes Puff! And I let it out into the world.”

He said, “and now the story will cover the WHOLE WORLD!”

Here I was holding this story not able to let it out

exactly like having to pee

like one of those dreams where there is nowhere to pee

So distracted by my unwritten poem

by the words I would use to describe this unspeakable sunset

that I couldn’t relax and smell that smell of sage

that sage smell.

I looked at the moon, coming up on the other side,

and back to the burning fading colors.

I wanted to see both views at once

I spun in circles on the narrow trail,

careful not to get dizzy enough

to misstep off the cliff

I cannot see enough beauty at one look to satisfy me

I cannot see any more than I can

My mind reviewing the words I would use to write all this down

holding on, as if

words were scarce

Full until I have a moment to pee out this poem

My friend pointed at a bright dot in the sky.

“Is that a planet? Or an airplane?”

We looked. It was too bright to be a planet. But it wasn’t moving.

I looked and looked, waiting for it to be clear.

But the top of the mountain still beckoned,

and we reluctantly resumed climbing.

I don’t have to decide that now,

I told myself.

If it’s a planet then it will still be there when I look again.