Angela Allen

The hay-gold light and the green sage will nourish me.
I will see an ibis, with a long neck, for my eyes only.
A crane will toss a stick and lure a faithful mate.
What bliss.

I will miss my son, my cat, and the rattle
of the Brooklyn train yard.

When a wagon train rumbles through
the high desert,
the travelers will wave deliriously to me.
I’ll wave back from a porch of juniper wood.

The deep pit in my stomach will be filled with fresh fruit,
thin of pith and thick with pulp, all for the children.

The vast sky will unleash a layer, stage a more
beautiful deeper higher place.

If there are tears, I will call them rain and wash the
desert floor.

Angela Allen
April 8, 2009