Postcard from Skardu

flew up here
next to peaks of Himalaya
25,000 feet high
poked above flurries of clouds
eye level with K-2
the highest mountain
in the world this year
woke to bright blue sky
thin above etched peaks
with chickadee cousins
calling, hopping in apricot
blossoms at 6 a.m. on Easter
trout kiss the pond surface
reflecting stony foothills.
across, villagers slowly climb
their walled paths to work.
Sunday is no holiday for Islam.
hungry herds of goat bleat
a cock crows more than thrice
the sound almost as perfect here
as in Epidaurus’ amphitheatre.
a bee begins to sing.
yesterday dusty laughing
begging children chanted
"l rupees!" following me
swinging their arms
to imitate my western gait.
stern older brothers
forced their sisters’ heads aside
girls cannot be photographed
without their veils
they look at me as if I’m naked.
today the tribal waiter
asks me whether I will
fast for Christ.
I tell him his valley
choirs my sunrise service
sing him a verse of

"He Lives! He Lives!
And that old song
the men’s choir
in the Bethel Lutheran Church
used to sing each year

"Up from the grave He arose"
everywhere
the sound
of rushing water

Jane Piirto, © 1987

Published in Columbus Parks Reading Series booklet 1989. &  in
Journeys to Sacred Places (chapbook, Piirto & Reynolds, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2005)