poetry
D. Gallo
Two Desert Sonnets
Once passing through a dusty foreign land
I paused to catch my breath upon a bluff
and saw the desert stretching, vast and rough:
a waste of bleaching bones and burning sand.
Down below, I saw an empty road
ancient, broken, buried in the dunes
its scattered backbone beckoning like runes
to learn the secrets of its path and mode.
But coming darkness urged me on my way,
and solitude cried lonely in my ears.
I left enigma to its empty years
and turned my mind to troubles of the day.
Haunted as I am, I wonder still
what waited for me there, beyond the hill.
How plastic the coins are in other lands.
I reach into a pocket; there’s no clink,
no cool metallic weight. I hestitate--
they must be somewhere in my bag, I think.
I start to say so to the ragged man
waiting patiently under a languid sun
as I rummage through my pockets for change.
His deferential eyes study the skies
reflected in scattered puddles. The strange
voices of the market bring confusion
and I fumble already broken speech.
He glances at me, shrugs and turns to join
the other beggars as I find a coin.
I hold my hand out, but it doesn’t reach.
Cenizo
Fourth Quarter 2017
13