Where We Are Going

By Ronda Piszk Broatch

A galaxy of mushrooms is birthed from the entropy 
of a fallen hemlock. The Sawyer Beetle
scuttling beneath my camera lens, 

now resting on my knee, is a black comet, with ‘horns’ 
three times longer than its body. 

Swallowtails sip salt from our socks and grips 
of our trekking poles. They read from the library of us, 
taste what our hands have explored. You wonder

where the dove builds its nest, and I can think only of 
the tiny juncos flitting from vine maple to salal. 

I’m stuck with you.
I keep the scent of sweat, of sex 
on my fingers, even as I fumble boot laces, 

and where to hang my hat. You lean your flyrod 
on a Sitka spruce outside our tent,

settle in and ask the questions you never asked me, 
even after thirty-two years. There is no known ending
to the Universe, nor a life, and really, 

I don’t want an answer. Rather,
let Snowberry Checkerspots gather 

on our tent flaps, the guy lines and rainfly. 
Maybe they, like we, are all broken-off
shards from distant stars, 

and like light seeking light, choose to stay the course.
You call this sub-alpine stretch of trail the Stairway 

to Heaven. I imagine God in the glacial rivers, 
shine on the beetle’s back, how the wings 
of Chryxus Artic, Sylvan Hairstreak, 

and Mountain Parnassian 
might just raise us up. 

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Ronda Piszk Broatch is the author of Lake of Fallen Constellations (MoonPath Press). Ronda’s current manuscript was a finalist with the Charles B. Wheeler Prize and Four Way Books Levis Prize, and she is the recipient of an Artist Trust GAP Grant. Ronda’s journal publications include Fugue, Blackbird, 2River, Sycamore Review, Missouri Review, Palette Poetry, and NPR News / KUOW’s All Things Considered. She is a graduate student working toward her MFA at Pacific Lutheran University’s Rainier Writing Workshop. Twitter: @RondaBroatch IG: @ronda.broatch.photos