Kingcup, Desert Cholla, Prickly Pear,
Pincushion or Spiny Star Cactus:
I wanted to pull up all the desert plants
From their roots, hairy and mad;
To keep a book of their deaths.
White sheet morning.
Where is your face?
I jogged this body
Past Sunday newspapers
Still sheathed in new blue wrappers.
Only the birds have woken up, but man!
They are really going at it.
There are so many things
To keep alive around here:
Two dogs, six potted plants, three fruit
Trees, an olive bush, and an immeasurable number
Of blades of grass reaching for the sun,
Scorching their way to yellow, then to nothing.
I keep trying to see the stars at night,
But the mosquitoes come out, so I stay shut up
Inside, locked on the couch, and then I wait
For morning. Morning comes, and sadness
Midlife, tremulous, joints beginning to question.
I had a dream my bangs turned silver;
Coarse as a wire brush. I’m afraid
These glasses don’t work. What else am I not seeing?
My hips blush. I’m sick of beauty.
I miss you and I want you to crush me.
All we do is talk about fate,
In a peeling paint car, on our way to nowhere.