Posts Tagged ‘Crestone Poetry Festival’




Can’t bring home the Sangre de Cristos with me.

As if I need another mountain in my back yard—

but these peaks are different, somewhat softer,

somewhat closer, somehow new.

A photo isn’t the same.

Can’t bring back the strange jazz of Friday night

with its ancient clarinetist, its renegade bass.

Can’t bring the back porch where we drank tequila.

Can’t bring the bright howl of coyotes

heralding dawn. I would like to pack

the conversation Julie and I had

this morning, the one in which she shared

her unmet dreams. And the laughter

in class today when hope was plucked

like a chicken and made into soup,

and the way the clouds were strangely blown

across the morning sky. The dark red gourd

Wendy carried with her. Scent of pinion.

Sound of Rachel’s drum. We can’t bring anything with us, really.

A toothbrush, a change of clothes, some boots.

But nothing that matters. Nothing

that we most want to hold. Like the love

I feel for these people who gather

in small rooms to talk about poems. Like

the friendship that blooms when we dare

to know just how much we can never bring back.


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