Nothing That's Not Been Said

Mostly journal poetry with occasional art and photographs.

[griffinsierra]

Dead Woman's [re]Fl(oat)[ection]

Come into the pool. One's first swimming lesson is how not to drown. It's easy. Lie prone. You learn the position in moments.

Your legs may sink, dragging you under. (Water and death are very old friends) So hold (your breath, and still). Now you are your own life preserver.

Floating in roiling unmeasured depths Any motion may lessen your chance of survival. It may look like you have given up. Turn your head carefully to inhale.

You may forget to breathe for a few moments; At least, the trick of holding in the air. The burning in your lungs will let you know. It is an ungentle, repetitive reminder.

Possibly you have begun to know What it might be like to really require this, Alone in the water, no rescue in sight, No shore in reach. Waiting.

The days become untrammeled by events. You hope the water doesn't get too cold. (There's rarely enough hot water to submerge in). There is time now for the thoughts you put away for later.

You don't know how it ends. So many possibilities, Hidden beyond an unusually high horizon. Even when you've done everything right, You get a chance, not a guarantee.

Not-knowing may add buoyancy or weight, Or fluctuate between extremes at will. Whether you try to flee it or surrender... If only you knew how that phrase had ended.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If only I knew what this phase portended, Whether I tried to float up or sink under Or fluctuate between axe dreams and chill Not knowing, I may add, joy. At sea, too late

For remonstrance, unsought, unfree. Even then, he'd one clever sting, slight, Hidden behind an uneasily shy confusion He won't show. Now, my friends, so many lost futilities

There to shame me for. The thoughts I wouldn't say are bitter. There's barely enough not-thought here to indulge in, (Unopened, not there, wasn't yet controlled) As dazed me comes unraveled my the meants.

Pressure to each inflating Balloon in the inferno, stress he'll incite. It wasn't quite the strike he feels I desired, Impossible to have outrun this blow

That is ungentle, this repetitive reminder. The turning of the tongues, he'll hurt me so. (This beast is sick, is folding in despair) They may regret, may grieve, as my proponents

Learn instead, mournfully, who they failed. It looks bleak, my half-empty cup. An emotion may lesson his hands in reprisal. (Holding in my toiling unassured breath)

How he argues, groans, wife disserver, So bold and brash and stiff, Hotter than breath, fleeing very cold ends. His dregs I drink, dragging me under

To churn my condition to nonsense. I'm queasy, alone, Unversed, dimming fast, don't know how, going down Dumb under the cruel.

Griffin Sierra 2018

I was sure I had posted this years ago, but apparently not.

It's a reflection poem, and the reflection is in some pretty troubled water.

[griffinsierra]

Pictures from Trail Canyon and Iron Mountain 2, April-July 2025

Griffin Sierra

[griffinsierra]

Iron Mountain #2, part 2

Go where I'm wanted next? Or where I would? A rock from Trail Canyon's heavy in my mind and hand. I think to check the density; Next, my textbook on mineralogy, Then USGS maps online, to find An unusual iron-rich intrusion Of gabbro, bearing magnetite...I could Test my sample....yes! So in conclusion, I'll take on Iron Mountain, now obsessed By rocks, a thorny 16-mile round trip, more textbooks (geophysics, plus the rest of calculus review, petrology...), equip- Ment upgrades, plants, the weather. To the peak! My continually underestimated hike.

Biweekly tries in June. I lose the track The first time, up the wrong stream canyon twice. The lupine meadow blooms as I bushwhack Through head-high flowers. Thorn shrubs are less nice, Or blackberry, or yucca where it's dry. The second time, orange lilies have appeared. I chop ceanothus until it's cleared, And yucca, slower now, but later I Get through with less abrasion. Glad I brought The loppers. Pondering continuity: The trail's a fractal line, length nears infinity As weary paces shrink, disheartening thought. I've incremental progress to report, But even a thirteen hour hike falls short.

Recalculate, still intent on the crest. On one insomniac night in mid-July, Start up the trail in moonlight, 5 A.M. The falls have stopped, the stream is nearly dry, The flowers gone to seed. I am impressed At how swiftly I cover old ground, then The new. A mountain lion growls at me Nearby, though I see nothing. Move along. At noon, my former maximum; I'll be There soon, another mile or so, stay strong. The white anorthosite gives way to ferro- Gabbro, rust-brown. Survey mark is here. Triumphant whoop, collapsing by the narrow Iron Mtn. sign. The sky's so near.

Can't stay long, as I must return by dark. Take photo evidence, some rocks, and leave At 2, 9 hours up, feeling the spark Of victory. Mendenhall Road. Retrieve My pack, too heavy for the last uphill Push. I trudge downslope. The sun is hot. A number line of landmarks, and I still Count miles to go. So tired. Lost in thought. The sun sets on my way down from the falls. The light fades as I reach the wide dirt path That is just pale enough to show the way. Someone drives up to ask if I'm okay. At 9:15 P.M., my car! It's all I need. I'll make it home. I trust the math.

Griffin Sierra 2025

I wanted to title this with a capital sigma (summation sign), summing from n=2 to n=5, but I can barely handle text on Tumblr, oh well.

[griffinsierra]

Iron Mountain #2

New life events encourage my ascent. I'm substituting, teaching east of here. (A slew of high school sciences) I'm near Tujunga, trekking up Trail Canyon's vale, Too far to hike for the light left. I meant To get here earlier. Another fail- Ure, if I thought I had to reach the peak. I am remembering community. I hear the vortices curl in the brook, (It sounds like welcome), smell the reek Of Yerba Santa, spy the poison oak Amid ceanothus, lupine, and bay. Above the falls the way is overgrown. As usual, no signal on my phone.

Five hours up, a ridgeline where I stop. I find my new location on the top- Ographic map, old skills renewed by use And study. Our plate moves tectonically Around a rotation pole, raising this height (Around 3400', best guess) By continental crust orogeny, The reason deep-set rocks are in my sight, With rust and iron-rich black pyroxenes A clue to why the mountain's name repeats In the San Gabriels. Inosilicates, like many crystal structures, have the means To swap in similar ions (substitution), Varying formulas in solid solution.

Is that the way emotion's crystallized? A compositional triangle defined, Vertices pain-doubt-desire, revised For unknown pressures, state functions of mind? As always, I'm my own experiment. Research, record, and try to replicate A better map. Backtrack, it's getting late. Downstream the view is subtly different. Exchange the new perspectives. Four More hours, I'm exhausted at the car, Check engine light flashing. I have a text. Another teaching job, same place, is tar- Geted to me. Drive home. Still need more Oxygen. Go where I'm wanted next.

Griffin Sierra 2025

After this hike I am confident I am not allergic to poison oak (there was A Lot). I found a rock on the hike that led me down a rabbit hole of research, which turned out to contain magnetite and is probably Precambrian. I read 3 of my textbooks (geophysics, mineralogy, petrology) while writing this poem. Will I ever reach the peak? Find out in the next Iron Mountain 2 installment. There are 3 Iron Mountains in the San Gabriel mountains. Not sure why #2 appealed to me most, but glad it did.

[griffinsierra]

Professional Development Day

It starts with the expected swirl of words, That swells inside me to hurricane scale. "Teaching" as an active, first-person verb, Hyped hot across my ocean of past fail- Ures, into a tropical depression. Rain falls. I push its track out to the quad To keep my colleagues dry. Then to my session. Group focus narrows while my thoughts blow broad. I know too well what non-compliance costs. Our str[u](i)cures bend us toward a certain form, More punishment than care, should we get lost; Intolerance for those beyond the norm. How can we offer students agency When their whole lives have taught them they aren't free?

Griffin Sierra 2022

I spent a year as a substitute 8th grade science teacher. It was difficult in both expected and unexpected ways.

[griffinsierra]

Guaranteed

My disaffection is as constant as My I-won't-look-at-that, deliberate Unmindfulness of what's always, what has, Who hasn't. Cheerfully prevaricate: I'm fine. Praise my award-worthy facade. "I don't care." But the trouble is, I can't. There's nothing I can work toward that I want. I'm stuck avoiding negatives. Applaud- Ing words slide sideways, unconnectable. Pushed far too young toward the perfectible, Self abnegation, frightened self-control. That really leaves me just one perfect goal, Where all failed expectations fall away, And let erasure be my legacy.

Griffin Sierra 2022

[griffinsierra]

San Gabriel Peak

Back to the (well, the opposite of a) well. Back up the 2. This time I find the trail, Slithering slippery up granitic slopes. Yuck, rotten granite, crystal ripped apart By water, rolling easily underfoot. I think about affection and respect. Respect, more solid through adversity. Affection, more like what I'm walking on. When it decays, one hell of a rough patch Build up. People get hurt, no matter how Carefully they intend to navigate. I doubt I'll come this way when going down. It's beautiful, but I don't like this climb. I'm too upset to write this and to rhyme.

The last snow's gone. I parallel the road Sometimes, though this is steeper, more direct. I reach the saddle in between Mount Dis- Appointment and this one. The clouds roll in, Shrouding a lost city. A chill relief. It's easier not to look at things that hurt, Knowing that saying something will not help. My words, my self, my pain, all minimized; pushed agonizingly toward the wrong things, Or piling work up for me straw by straw, Careless of my long stressed and fractured state. It's hard enough to eel between the thorns Of the ceanothus blooming on the verge. Why did I bear my parents up this way?

How can I help it? Yet I reach the peak. Here, Disappointment looms across the gap. There is a survey marker, and a plank Lettered with the spot's name and altitude, The tallest in the local area. A lizard with a bright blue abdomen Does push-ups feet away, king of the hill. I trace the mountains graven on my wrist, Take pictures, rest in sunshine. I feel stuck, Too many thorns in what I need to say, Not enough blackberries. Going down, It's just as difficult as I projected, Slipping until I get down on my ass, Scooting until the worst of it is past.

And when the trail's too much, at least This time there is a safe alternative, The fire road. They had the means, you see, To make a wider path. So often they Would offer to pay others for the tasks I was already doing, and for free. No monetary value seen in me, But for my kids, for things they didn't need, They'd offered private school tuition fees. That's forty thousand dollars worth of help, But not for me, doing the toughest work, Being the rock that trouble won't dissolve Under their feet. That's what broke my resolve.

I need to find a place that knows my worth.

Griffin Sierra 2022

[griffinsierra]

P{l}a(y/i)[n]ful

She's told this story often and with pride. A kindergarten parent volunteer, During free time she sees me playing, near. She wants to push me toward what I've not tried. I'm in the corner hammering on wood. Alone, repetitive, not what she'd pick. She tries to change my mind. The teacher, quick To notice, tells her "This is what she should Be doing, what she needs right now." The end. Lesson received. But somehow never learned. She still thinks she knows best. I still pretend I'll humor her. Though childhood's long adjourned, I'm still astray; she's still prone to insist. It wounds me to conform or to resist.

Griffin Sierra 2022

[griffinsierra]

Top: At the peak of Mount Disappointment. Middle: Mount Disappointment from San Gabriel Peak. Lower: San Gabriel Peak (with sign and view)

Griffin Sierra 2022

[griffinsierra]

Mount Disappointment

It’s been a few weeks since I (again) blew My always-fragile equilibrium. Parental disrespect tipped me askew; The chained related memories all come To call unwanted; wouldn’t let me rest,  Waking up angry; breaking into tears. Half-written sonnets clutter my notes app. I got my first tattoo, to bind my fears. No resolution. Sick from being stressed, It’s mountain time-to-climb. Study the map: Location, length and title intersect In what I seek. I’m heading up the 2, Angeles Forest Highway, to connect Past me to present what-am-I-to-do.

I parked at Red Box, reconnoitering. A trailhead there was closed due to past fire; It takes time to regrow. (I know). Empire Displaced these tribes, I read, while loitering At a display. Our culture at a glance: A hierarchy of control, contempt Towards those deemed lesser, holographically Expressed in structures, families nonexempt From rigid patterning of forced compliance. Children have no recourse but family; Few rights beyond what guardians award. So many children always on their guard. So many parents punish deviation Just to avoid communal condemnation.

On to my latest try to rise above. One thousand feet along the road, I pull Over. There is a trail here I can’t see. The fire road, 2N52, could be Another route. (The road more travelled?) Full Of ruminations, struggling to stay Grounded, I look around at what I love: The pale intrusive rocks, weathered, brittle; Tall pines and spruces, live oak. A new place To put one foot down, then another, gyring, Surveying, cataloguing. Slowing, tiring. A wisp of snowdrift clings to the north fac- Ing road. I forgot water, so I drink The snow. Emotions teeter on the brink.

Will I arrive, and when, a mystery. Around a bend, I see a towered height; That must be it. I’ve read the history: Surveyors named it based upon a slight- Ly lower elevation than its twin, San Gabriel Peak. It wasn’t good enough. We never are. Yet this is where they built A military base. Found the connection— I’m heading where I aimed, that so-named bluff, Choked with responsibility and guilt Others erected. Maybe another mile. I make it there. The view’s incredible, But not so clear. Still feeling out of whack. I‘ll leave, for now. I’m always coming back.

Griffin Sierra 2022

There’s no trail marker for the Mount Disappointment/San Gabriel Peak trail, nor is it obvious. When I came back down I looked more carefully and finally saw it. Next time. The fire road hike was about 6.5 miles total, a lot of it on the north side with shade. 5,960 ft elevation. You need a National Forest Adventure Pass to park here, so I finally got myself an annual pass.

[griffinsierra]

Brain Fog

Hold it together till I get off work, Go home, pick up a tablet or a book, Lie down on floor or bed, forgetful, shook, Reading a page, again. Again. The murk- Iness, a phrase or song stuck in my brain Like childhood’s record platters with a skip, Skip, skipping over the thoughts that drain  Away, reminders like a breadcrumb trail Laid through an aviary. With a skip, Backwards and slantwise through the article  To find my place. I think I had one, but It’s so betwixted, cannot reconstruct, And with a skip, and now it’s time for what? Another what-to-do list truly fucked.

Griffin Sierra 2022

[griffinsierra]

Masks

Cloth over faces, naturally the mind Fills in, imagines underneath the blind- Fold veiling our perception of the mouth, The words are muffled. Every day we try To mend the sentences, repair the truth. The tears are blotted if we have to cry, A bloody nose requires us to change The stained thing out. It might reflect our taste Or add to anonymity. So strange At lunch or recess, sudden alteration, Chins and noses now free of obfuscation Till these features are re-shrouded in haste. Some undercover, some yearn to be seen, All Covid-crammed in endless Halloween.

Griffin Sierra 2021

[griffinsierra]

Preserves

The trees stand almost just like yesterday, Gradually changing, patient as I learn Their habits and their names. The stones won’t turn Over new leaves. My calendar is gray With blocks of quiet study, loud recess (4th-6th graders), students out of place. I want to pick the olives in the quad. *I want.* This is a gift I might embrace, Delicately. Today I daren’t press, Too new to this small universe. It’s odd, I work here now. I don’t know how I feel. I’m diligent and calm. I’m smiling more. The sycamore and oaks affirm, it’s real. The granite coaxes, bring your olive jar.

Griffin Sierra 2021

I recently started a new job as a part-time assistant teacher at a private school. I spent the last year in therapy to be able to get to this point.

[griffinsierra]

Cerro Negro

I changed it up by hiking with a group Of queer women, and brought my daughter too. Along Descanso Drive we rendezvous.  The route is out-and-back, and out we troop, The cloudy day negating promised views. It’s hard to climb and talk, but I can try To keep the doubled pace. We all peruse The landscape (and each other, on the sly). My daughter laughs, “Please get my mom a date!” I do, at least, commit to hike again. The summit reached, the air raid siren fen- Ced off, a Cold War relic. Then we ate Our snacks, sharing between us what we’d brought. (I say “we,” but the truth is, I forgot).

Our leader strips to a bikini for The hike back. Much amusement, friendly smiles.  She urges us to try it. On our tour, It’s mostly downhill for a couple miles, And then the main group takes another tack. My daughter’s drooping, so we’re homeward bound, Promise the rest we’ll message when we’re back Safely. Multiple trails turn me around, (These hills are highly trafficked), and we’re sort Of lost. Civilization is That Way, I’m sure, and pick a likely route. Today I’m right. We see a rabbit, a comfort To tired eyes. The road appears; the car In half a mile. I feel I’ve traveled far.

Griffin Sierra 2021

Cerro Negro is in the San Rafael Hills, east of Glendale and south of La Crescenta/La Canada. There are a lot more trails, and trail signs, than in the Verdugo Mountains. The round trip is about 5 miles, from the trailhead just east of Descanso Gardens.

[griffinsierra]

Ocean Swimming

I hate cardiovascular exercise. (I liked, however, starting a sonnet thus; So scientifically indecorous). Power is yes, endurance is fuck no With my build, unless it’s something slow  Like walking. I over-dramatize Slightly, tired out after the swim I took because the tide’s too high to walk Along the beach. In using a new limb (Arm: I usually hike), I rack Up a new scapular muscle injury, Ouch. Seven? years since I had a strain Quite this severe. Like going back a century, Time-traveling, connecting pain to pain.

I’d torn my left quadriceps moving a tree Inside for Christmas in the summertime. Sleeping on the tile repeatedly To chill the ache away. I would decline Help driving the kids to school, afraid They could get hurt by asking him for aid He never offered, ready to complain, Explode, or otherwise deflect, distract, Retaliate. How can I ever let this go? My body holds the memories intact No matter what I’m doing to retrain Ingrained responses, terror’s deja vu. Today I saw a doctor for my shoulder. Improvement, incremental, growing older.

Griffin Sierra 2021

[griffinsierra]

To My New Therapist

Welcome to my performance of myself, And welcome to my new supporting cast Member. Let me skip over my past Littered with hurts undusted on the shelf Of memory. Such a soliloquy, Though neither tragic nor quite comedy, Often eludes my thespian ambition, More tolerant of written exposition. (Meaning I’d rather write some things than say Them, yikes, I’m usually informal To a fault. I am nervous. Which is normal For me when meeting someone new, hooray). I’ll just try to convey a thing or three About the subject of the sonnet, me.

My former therapist put me up to this. (I avoid judgment, often on defense) I’ve never thought quite like anyone else. I don’t believe in guilt, shame, or regret, Although I can’t eradicate them yet. I love myself, books, monsters, plants, rocks. Humanity’s as nerve-racking as talk, Subjects of study failing to make sense. I cannot tolerate feeling confined, Manipulated, pushed. Don’t shout at me. I “have a problem with authority.” I leave a lot of space between the lines. I usually work behind the scenes. I wrote this, but can’t tell you what it means.

Griffin Sierra 2021

My previous therapist suggested that my new therapist would like an introductory letter, including poem. I was privately skeptical, but he was right.

[griffinsierra]

Waves

I went back to the ocean, like I said I would. I let the waves smack me around Until I chilled. Sobbed on the sun-hot sand Amidst a crowd, a classic reprise, sound- Less and unnotable. Everyone leaves. You never know which swell will be too strong To stand up to, and then you’re dragged along The sand disoriented, underwater, Battered. Get back up, spit out the bitter Taste, wade out again. Everyone grieves. Heights bring perspective, but I’m at the zero Point, where all the tears collect. I know This repetition, daunting, imprecise, Always the same waves, never the same way twice.

Griffin Sierra 2021

One thing I have learned over the past 7 years is that people don't typically notice you crying in public if you do it quietly. It’s summer, time to trade in hiking for swimming. Wave jumping is a favorite childhood activity, but somehow I get cold much faster now. Last poem in the backlog. I just finished the last handful (mountain/ocean poems) yesterday, and they all happened in the last 2 months.