Black ice: A poem

Memories beyond the mountains


Photo by Chloe Blauner

By Chloe Blauner, Collegian Correspondent

There are mountains on top of mountains

And if there’s not one in front of me, I will push together soft dirt

So I can form a new hill that I can’t see over.

Long ago established roads weave through the mountains, and

Every peaceful valley I pass through, I pretend is just a dream.

And on these nonexistent nights I drive alone,

Your name is the black ice on the road.

No matter how big the earth is, if you’re driving in circles you pass the same things twice-

And I’ve seen you before, in another life.

And I knew you so well in another version of myself,

And I cross you on the path, but you don’t recognize me, and since I’m a stranger, you quietly pass.

There are lonely sounds that echo in these mountains,

The cackles and screams of the people who went crazy looking for a valley that they swore they saw so clearly in a dream.

And if you ever find one of these people, you’ve got to just let them be,

Because the most dangerous people are the delusional ones who live inside a dream.

Past the nonexistent valley, I reach a nonexistent shore,

And I follow sandy footprints until I cross paths with a stranger

Whose eyes I can remember,

But who I understand I don’t know anymore.

And in this other life I’m living, this version 633 of me,

I’ll smile at you in passing, but I will leave your memory on this made-up beach.

And in this lukewarm bout of understanding, the black ice melts away

And I can drive away again, but this time I don’t see your face, and

I just have to believe that at some point, there will be no mountains beyond the mountains,

And that life will be easy and kind.


Chloe Blauner can be reached at [email protected].