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The Porous Desert
An extraordinarily rich collection of poems from the Arizona desert.
- GenresPoetry
60 pages, Paperback
First published August 1, 2008
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
December 2, 2012
We are the publisher, so all of our authors get five stars from us. Excerpts:
WRITING IN THE DESERT
Once you have entered the desert
a lock behind you clicks. A new vocabulary
floods your tongue and leaves you struggling
to pronounce the words. After the first year
you learn that silence is the official language
here. The longer you stay
the shorter the book you came to write becomes
until the manuscript fits on the wings
of a moth. Each dusk, a lifetime’s work
draws closer to the flame.
LIVING WITH DROUGHT
We know we are living with drought
when rain becomes so precious
we wear the drops on a chain
around our necks.
Touching the ground each morning
to feel for dew
reveals our insecurity.
We beg the passing clouds
to stop, invoke gods
known to be extinct
for a miracle, and polish
our faucets for luck.
Wildflower season finds us
counting roadside blooms
for reassurance. Vacationing
in ghost towns
we make friends with fate,
but too late. The owls
are already staring at us
accusingly, the lizards
have us in their sights,
and bats pour into the sky
without waiting for dark.
We try sleep
as a final refuge,
only to wake
after an hour, reaching
for the glass at our bedside
and seeing by the light
of the scorpion inside it.
WRITING IN THE DESERT
Once you have entered the desert
a lock behind you clicks. A new vocabulary
floods your tongue and leaves you struggling
to pronounce the words. After the first year
you learn that silence is the official language
here. The longer you stay
the shorter the book you came to write becomes
until the manuscript fits on the wings
of a moth. Each dusk, a lifetime’s work
draws closer to the flame.
LIVING WITH DROUGHT
We know we are living with drought
when rain becomes so precious
we wear the drops on a chain
around our necks.
Touching the ground each morning
to feel for dew
reveals our insecurity.
We beg the passing clouds
to stop, invoke gods
known to be extinct
for a miracle, and polish
our faucets for luck.
Wildflower season finds us
counting roadside blooms
for reassurance. Vacationing
in ghost towns
we make friends with fate,
but too late. The owls
are already staring at us
accusingly, the lizards
have us in their sights,
and bats pour into the sky
without waiting for dark.
We try sleep
as a final refuge,
only to wake
after an hour, reaching
for the glass at our bedside
and seeing by the light
of the scorpion inside it.
July 10, 2013
This collection captures the starkness of desert and drought.
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews