Sad eyes eye the journey ahead,
resolve to walk it, bare feet
padding up the hill, nearly silent,
not disturbing the rest of the fallen trees
he solemnly steps over, does not bother
the copperhead, its body a trailing of brown and gold.
Both man and snake are gentle, share knowing
there has been enough violence in these days,
rivers rising like serpents and striking wildly
at anything in reach, the mountains all swept away.
Sad eyes grow sadder at the summit, flood waters
browning out the horizon, the towns he can’t see
but knows are gone. Lake Lure, Chimney Rock, Old Fort,
Banner Elk, Morganton, Burnsville, Asheville, Creston, gone.
The wind caresses bearded face, tousles his long hair,
pushes his tears aside, says its sorry, or at least tries.
His phone pings, alive on the high ground,
and three hundred miles away I receive word.
My friend Andrew is ok, alive on the high ground.
My sad eyes drip water onto my phone’s display,
news of Hurricane Helene’s rage still updating,
the losses rising like flood water, drowning me.
Andrew is alive, but he is not really ok.
My mountains rise high, but they are not ok.
I look at what’s been done, and I am not ok,
but I breathe, grasp car keys, prepare to drop off
all the relief supplies I can afford to buy.
My sad eyes eye the journey ahead,
resolve to walk it anyway.
—
Garrett Sharpe is an environmental microbiologist, hiker, naturalist, and poet from central North Carolina. Garrett’s poems showcase the plants, animals, and landscapes he loves, as well as the threats facing them in an ever more human centric world. He is a board member of the North Carolina Poetry Society, has been published in Pinesong and The Heron Clan VI, and received the Ross L. Andrews Nature Poetry Contest Chestnut Oak Award in 2020.
