The Meadow 187 Beautiful Country Jory Mickelson Oh beautiful, Oh country, I didn’t want to love all your green, but I let myself. How beauty folds in on the heart before you even begin to take it in. I thought, yes, I would kill the one who tried to take this place from me, if it were mine. How I never thought I could commit to beauty with such violence— and how, given our violent histories, no naming can save us. Two-Heart Butte—so much wonder a single heart couldn’t hold it, but named in truth for two Blackfoot men Merriweather Lewis murdered. How the history of loss sets up a people to either forget or hold on forever. How beauty dares us to change our minds. Perhaps the earth can allow what’s been placed deep to be, not buried, but maybe called to rest instead. And how what is resting, can fold in on itself as it begins to dream of embracing you and everyone who meets at this rise. I would call this shrinking space between us home.
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