Morning Mondo and A Question

 By Jim Provencher

 What’s the plan, Poppy, now that
you’re getting up there, you going
to ash or ground?

My six-year-old grandson hits me
with these questions out of nowhere,
no holds barred morning mysteries,
no filter, no curb, no screen.

Ashes, I guess—why take up space?
I’m not famous—no one would visit
my grave, depositing devotional debris.
No, it’s ashes for sure.

But where will they go, in a little box
someone can keep somewhere?
No, just carry them up, when you’re
old enough, to the summit of Mount Feathertop,
Queen of the Victorian Alps.

It’s a long-haul slog along the Razorback,
an undulating ridge, navigating a series
of rocky knobs and grassy balds,
climbing some, skirting others,
big views back over to Mount Bogong.

A few hours of serious up-and-down
and there she is, a perfect 6,247-foot pinnacle!
Follow the sharp ridgeline, straddling the knife-edge
where east, west, slopes fall away, plunging
into eucalypt darkness and the Ovens River Valley.

Feathertop—the name says it all:
In winter nonstop Antarctic winds
send summit snow plumes streaming,
permanently flying a white flag of surrender.

In summer, though, high above
Ovens Valley heat, wild flowers carpet grassy slopes.                                                                                            Bees buzz about: Let me go there.