poetry
Desert Wars
He pulled me to him
Across the desert seas.
Drought
He haunted my dreams,
and serenaded my days.
In the tug of war of love,
his arms wrapped around me
and pulled tight.
Feet dragging in the sand,
I crossed the line and dove in.
You win, desert.
You win.
by Beth Doolittle
Irrepressible
In the middle of west Texas
a place in hardscrabble oil country
the city of Midland has a
fine stadium complex—
a place for minor league baseball
a place to take, to watch, the kids
A large stone squats small and
homely in front of the baseball field.
On it, a plaque says that it came
from below what is now center field.
It says that legend says that the
rock ensures that all who visit
there will enjoy themselves.
It is caliche. It is Ogallala. It is breccia—
a broken-then-reassembled assemblage
of angular gray chunks and lesser
red blebs and calcareous lumps and
crusts, all backhoe-scraped and stuck
together in polymictic disorder.
Joy! Offered by a rock that has
endured far more than its fair share
of stress and strain. Beat to hell
and handing out happiness.
“Now see there, kid,” he says,
“Ain’t that some character for ya!”
by David M. Orchard
22
Cenizo
Third Quarter 2014
Bone-dry,
dead ocotillos
rasp and rattle
in the desert winds, brittle
down to the roots.
by Steve Wilson