Summer 2003 • Vol. XXV No. 3/4 PoetryJuly 1, 2003 |

Mountain Smoke

At the center of Indian country, three miles high, rises Mount Wrangell. Sometimes smoke comes from the mountaintop. Elders believe it is smoke from the campfires of spirits. It is said that when we die, our ghosts travel there. When I have lived for a very long time I will go there, too.

Already have an account? Login

Join KR for even more to read.

Register for a free account to read five free pieces a month from our current issue and digital archive.
Register for Free and Read This Piece



Or become a subscriber today and get complete, immediate access to our digital archives at every subscription level.

Read More

Subscribe

Your free registration with Kenyon review incudes access to exclusive content, early access to program registration, and more.

Donate

With your support, we’ll continue 
to cultivate talent and publish extraordinary literature from diverse voices around the world.