By Amy McGleenan
When a mountain climber
Slips, they apply more chalk;
It fills the lines of age etched
On the nimble hands that
Pass rocks and rope alike.
Beauteous callouses clutch
Twisted faces of rock,
Adhering to the brutal boulder.
Grasps of stone and life mingle;
One may not exist without another,
For to lose grasp of stone is to
Lose the grasp of Life.
Silken climber at one with the stone:
Face to face, stone to flesh.
More chalk. Again.
From foothold to falling; floundering.
Without the chalk, the climber may
Perish. But what chalk may coat your mind?
What dust can fill crevices,
Can strengthen the iron-grasp
Of your mind?
Carry your chalk,
For without it you may
F
A
L
L
The Jumble 