Public Republic

Heather Wyatt

The face of the Creek man
looked off in the distance
with me tucked safely
in his peripheral.
You could see why
this man was famous.
His nose jutted out
from the face of the cliff
as if he was peering
through the trees
watching over the natural
bridge. I don’t like to hike
nor do I particularly care
for the outdoors but here
amidst the neon blue sky
and crunchy, dead trees
I feel inspired, human.
The man in the gift shop
said to expect uneven
ground, hidden roots
and unstable rocks
and the dust on the back
of my jeans made his words
true in a literal sense
but this small town man
with greasy hair also gave me
quite an extended metaphor.
On the way out
I passed the native etched in the mountain
again and gave him a little
wink in appreciation.