poetry by Lauren Martini
On Courthouse Square
In a chapel yard
on the courthouse square
I sit on a chair someone carved
of a single cedar trunk,
a silver throne.
To my right all I see is azure,
a towering block of blue
resting on the Rio Grande,
heaving sighs of Mexican dust.
At my left billows a rising wave
of grey danger,
shot through with high voltage,
murmuring threat and wet destruction.
My vantage lies on the event horizon, serene,
between dry compressed heat
and a wind I can smell.
The doves have gone silent.
It won’t be long now.
Perspective
The furrowed brow of the
Ouachita Fold is constant
in its disapproval
of all travelers the same –
vibrating bits, standing waves,
hurtling bodies of attraction and
repulsion –
my trajectory is a particular imper-
tinence,
for I think of the rock
as eternally still,
and I believe I am heading north.
*The Fossil Beds
of El Camino del Rio
When we try to measure distance
getting off the road is key
there we wade into the remnants
of a liquid history
salted with
the bony bits of leathery birds
lying just beneath our feet
(feathery brushstrokes clear our eyes
so ancient forms and modern meet)
finny lizards rest in dry-dock
washed only now by desert rain
until a sharp-eyed wizard comes
cajoling them to swim again
I’ve seen the artist with the brush
the medium who sees the past
a man who translates with his hands
the chalky runes revealed at last
and as he taught himself, he now
shows mosasaurs and ammonites
to shorter scientists than he
giving back the gift of sight
*after a visit with Mr. Ken Barnes
20
Cenizo
Third Quarter 2013