Anyone who wanders into the wild canyons of life, eventually picks up the sandy rocks, notices the obsidian flakes, and kicks the dirt a little. This morning's poem promises to keep our eventual destination in mind, no matter what we encounter.
Karla Linn Merrifield is a seven-time Pushcart Prize nominee and a National Park Artist-in-Residence. Her newest book is Lithic Scatter and Other Poems, published by Stewart Warren's Albuquerque-based publishing house, Mercury Heartlink. She will be featured at a reading/workshop at Jules's Poetry Playhouse on Tuesday, June 4th.
Be Now My Anasazi
I vow never to ensnared by hard places,
as narrow as the path between them proves to be.
I’ll use small words like hot, dry, stone,
but not tell you how sere the desert is,
nor say if these walls are sedimentary in nature,
if former gods laid them down in the Jurassic.
We need no scientific terminology for geology.
I would not lead you into highland canyons
without trust in my primitive lexicon.
So I will keep my sentences fleet.
As quick as mountain thundershowers.
Quick as flash floods.
No matter which river, which season,
we will be able to pass through, across.
An alcove in the cliff awaits.
We will begin to paint.
We shall color our love ocher.
We picture it beyond the river narrows.
Poetry submissions are welcome. Email firstname.lastname@example.org.