So last weekend I went camping with friends. We settled in a little campground near Mount Adams. We were without cell service and without agenda, relaxing under the regard of the peak, known to the native Yakama as Pahto.

A small stream ran through the campground. It was called Bird Creek. I spent a whole day just reading, flowing and otherwise doing anything I particularly wanted next to this cool mountain water.

Afterwards, I wrote two poems. Inspired by the imagery of “mountain hands.”

I don’t know where it came, I don’t know if it works, I just know that two poems sprung from the words. So there’s a lot of shared imagery between the two. But I figured it would be a good exercise to see how that imagery can place in two poems with differing subject matter.

The first one is self-explanatory, but the second one plays on the commonly held legend about the formation of Mt. Adams, St. Helens and Hood. I’m not sure I believe the authenticity of the tale, but I do think it a solid parable that you can read here.

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I want to give a huge thank you to all my Patreon subscribers. You guys are all incredible for helping me pursue this dream. My skills as a poet are improving by the day and I don’t think they would if I didn’t know people were interested to read the words. For those who are keen to read more, I have additional poems available on the Patreon page.

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The skinny is this: the Great Sky Spirit, Tyhee Sahale and his two sons Pahto and Wy’east came to a beautiful country from the Great North. They quarreled over the land, so Sahale fired an arrow to the north and south. Pahto settled in the North, and Wy’east settled in the south.

Every year, they would meet at a great rocky span across the Columbia called the Bridge of the Gods. At the bridge was a woman, Loowit, said to tend a sacred fire. For this work, she was transformed by Sahale into a beautiful maiden.

The brothers were instantly taken by her, and soon began to war over who would win her affection. Forests were burned, lakes were filled, and in their wrath, the Bridge of the Gods fell, creating the Columbia Gorge.

For their trespasses, Sahale smote all three. But in regret, he rose a great mountain where each fell.

Loowit, being the most beautiful, sits symmetrical, as if without fault. She is now known as Mt. St. Helens. Wy’east, now known as Mt. Hood, holds his head high with the unmistakable pride that his cause remains just. Finally, Pahto, or Mt. Adams, keeps stooped low in the direction of Loowit, remorseful for what his actions had wrought.

Or so that’s how the legend goes. I just hope my poem does it justice.

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Pahto

Pour me a glass, Pahto,
From your mountain
Hands, full with ice
From tears you once had
When the fire cooled
From your eyes

You have gone so, so
Long with your brow
Sat low over skyline
Looking for faces
Lost in lahars
Of what was alleged

Though I know it hurts,
I still see your brother
Stand proud around town
With scars that moved
Heaven and earth
Just to hide the shame

The townsfolk repeat
His tale in an ink
Stolen from smoke
And wrought in words
That never learned
His native name

They have recited it
By heart for so long
That I no longer know
What’s true or what
Rent Loowit, sent her
Into righteous rage

You may blame yourself
Because your head
Could not look away
As her mouth burst
Coughing flame
From that bygone age

But that is grief somedays
And now she spends
Hers rebuilding what
Was lost and reclaiming
That which was tossed,
As far as she begot

So let us drink, Pahto
Let us drink, drink,
This lakewater ale,
Under pine tree
shadows planted
By ancient arrows

Let us drink ‘til you
Find your strength
To build a new bridge
For more than just Gods,
Or a bosom clutched
But never yours

Let us drink and hail
Your father’s father
Again, at peace
In a vault made from sky,
As we drink to a love
That will never die

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