the endangered species list

the sky leaks texas gold, black ink bleeding cobalt heat.

nuzzled among the metal wings of giants i drive on ribbons of steaming gravel to the arrival gate where you wait.

i said, “welcome back to satan’s oven.”

you laughed and answered with a slow drawl.

(you’ve been in nashville too long.

the south has a way of sleeping inside southerners.)

at burleson road we stopped and bought water from an apache warrior named joe.

“at least we’re luckier than those sons-of-bitches in california,” he said, patting the lone star flag to his forehead.

“sonoma valley’s baked alive.

forest incinerated, property losses.

at least when trees die here, they die of natural causes.”

is any death natural? i thought.

in big bend, indigo snakes molder in the sand, macabre trophies, bread for scorpions.

can we call death what it truly is – a new beginning?

anyways it’s dangerous to leave and forget the state of the state where you live.

i handed you the water.

at home our son was studying the rivers of texas. bravos, pecos, sabine. he said, “did you know colorado is spanish for reddish?”

“then texas must mean bright red, red red, like the color of a crime scene,” i said.

“texas is changing,” you replied. “look around you.”

i laughed. austin is a poor litmus test for the rest of texas.

the test strip stains blue no matter the circumstance.

besides, I had looked around.

on west gate and william cannon, midnight blue and white election signs stamped every yard with four letters.

at mount sinai church, i brought home a sign of my own, after two hours of being waco in a texas-shaped crowd of voters.

180 minutes of traveling west.

one caravan, 1000 passengers.

the microphone left galveston and zig-zagged across the state until it crossed the rio grande into el paso.

rosaria’s father was an immigrant and a veteran.

she buried him that morning.

adam was the human embodiment of student loans.

jolene lost her job to a company overseas.

can you guarantee a job for me?

beto wore a buttoned-down shirt and by the time the second amendment reared its ugly head, his entire front was wet with sweat from the desperate requests of 1000 voters.

but he kept talking.

and we kept listening.

in the end i took my buttons and barbed wire.

because why not? a change was coming.

if the eastern indigo can survive a crimson tide, then surely their southwestern cousins stood a chance to hook a win?

and wouldn’t it be something to make waves in a land that rain had forgotten –

and will you tell them in california when the smoke clears that they’re welcome here?

we can’t make waves without water.