I did not know who to be
until I took the weight
of a place on my shoulders.
I wasn’t a camel,
but I bowed down to take
mountains upon mountains,
eagles, eggs, and nests,
streams, cutthroat trout,
sagebrush and sage grouse,
jack rabbits, rattle snakes,
and shy kangaroo rats.
It wasn’t straw. It was
the last crusty snail
who died at the last dry spring
that finally broke my back.
Like the abandoned remains
of an old pioneer hearth,
I cracked in half
and tumbled with the dust
all the way to rock bottom.
It hurt down there, on that hard bed,
but after breaking my bones,
the stones healed me and I learned
that even their rough embrace
is always softer than
asphalt or concrete.
So, I’ll be a rock
not because they don’t feel pain,
(they do) but because rocks
stay hard even after they crack
under pressure.
Will Falk (he/him) is a biophilic activist, author, and attorney. The natural world speaks and poetry is how Will listens. His law practice is devoted to helping Native American communities protect their sacred sites and cultural resources. He is the author of How Dams Fall and When I Set the Sweetgrass Down. You can follow his work at willfalk.org.