James Tyler | Beast of Burden | Poets Resist

Poets Resist
Edited by Alicia Cole
March 11, 2020

James Tyler

Beast of Burden

I didn’t come to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon to read the Bible or chase the chipmunks off cliffs. I leave those ventures to missionaries and coyotes. There’s something to be said about soul searching here, mixing the reds, greens, and browns in the spirit’s palate, where one wrong step can be perilous, one second glorious. Due to twenty years of eating chocolate doughnuts and drinking stout beer, apparently I am too heavy to ride a mule, too burdensome for a beast of burden. So I sit on the porch outside my cabin and read obituaries, slap mosquitoes that land on my face or hands, and, every now and then, glance at the woman next door. I saw a rare rainbow at 2am, crashing into the canyon, broke into a billion celestial shards that covered the ground all around Phantom Ranch until the hikers woke, until the sun woke enough to bless sore feet, then the shards disappeared into the Colorado River and buried themselves into the bed, the channel. I believe that’s what gives the canyon its color despite what the rangers and geologists say. Hey, I don’t think Jesus gets it all right. I met a young woman with eyes that said, “Fuck off.” She served me trout with lemon chimichurri and a bottle of cheap red wine. I figured she was here trying to work up the courage to leap off the rim and dive like a peregrine falcon, ultimate freedom for mere seconds upon seconds, but worth it. I carry freedom like a beast of burden and buckle under its weight day by year, much heavier than one might imagine.