Wasteland

We could live all our lives

in suburban toyland

with no discomfort,

with our pretend jobs,

with tools that are not dangerous,

that sort of work

We could tell ourselves

there’s no reason for

that reckless longing

that keeps rising up —

We could beat it back

through shopping,

live all our lives that way

But they would be short —

We’d die of shallowness,

of not being able

to get a deep breath

We’d die of feeling no danger,

no aliveness

We’d die because fear

would come and get us anyway

in our little holes

because fear is never conquered

by running from it

We can’t live all our lives

in suburban wasteland.

Wilderness calls us

and from deep in our throats,

deep in our guts,

we answer.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 17, 2014