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poetry and digital art

American Summer

Poems written while traveling.

Cottonwood Spring 


In the early June heat
we came to an area of Joshua trees

that were pensive and beast-like
in the early June heat.

We crossed spiny acres of chollas
on a swift slope into the lower desert,

driving past Pinto Basin on a potholed road,
driving past dust-devils;

we were heading out to the oasis
at Cottonwood Spring.

Surprised to be alone
I killed the engine

and the desert filled with sound.
We followed a trail down into the grove

and found a patch of wet sand
as if someone had spilled a gallon jug.

In their presence I was first to run,
a swarm of bees fell out

from one of the palms.  But then
from the firm safety of the pavement

I saw a condom beside a low bush,
dried like a lizard skin.

And I showed it to Suzy, pointing out
the ring.  It had been used.




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