By Cheryl J. Fish Never mended my blind spot—thought the volcano swerved
>A graphic novel monster, stationary molten rock At Windy Ridge, Mount St. Helens, 30 years post-eruption Cartoon-like, cracked. Cell phone powers up approaching the ridge—four bars. A series of beeps in your pocket Imagine those hikers falling from a snow cornice Thinking they stood on solid rock, not packed snow Posing for a photo, they slid down the south face Blurred in winter’s majestic light, flashes of old growth forest Charred in pyroclastic flow No more solid than the peak that once glistened distant On blue Portland days What you can’t fathom finds you Objects unto obliteration.