Sometimes, certain she has botched it all,
certain she has made of the gift of her life
a desert, something desolate and harsh,
when surely she was meant to create
something lush and verdant, something fecund,
fertile and teeming with wonder, in that moment
of self-inflicted despair, fueled by comparison,
a woman might stand in the midst of that desert
and hold in her hands her own tender heart,
hold it the way she might hold any spiky thing—
lightly, as if it might float—and marvel at the wisdom
of prickly things, how each spine provides a small
measure of shade in a place with no other shelter,
how together those spines reflect the sun to protect
what is inside from burning, how even the prickliest
things are encoded to flower when given more light,
when offered the barest encouragement of rain.
Posts Tagged ‘desert’
Conditions
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cactus, desert, failure, self-compassion, self-defeating behavior on July 6, 2026| 3 Comments »
In Harsh Times
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged desert, hope, music, seed, song, transformation on July 4, 2025| 11 Comments »
I know, music alone
will not save us. But tonight
when my daughter played
the song we both love,
we smiled at each other,
all giddy and warm,
and some shriveled
part of me revived.
It was like those seeds
in the desert that wait years
to germinate—all they need
is one good rain.
That’s what a song can do.
Remind us our hope
is merely dormant, not dead.
Who could blame me, then,
for wanting to bring a song
to the whole thirsty world,
a song that soaks into
our parched hearts,
stunning us with just how fast
even the harshest world
can transform.
When It’s Hardest
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged choice, desert, drought, love, plant, yucca on June 15, 2021| Leave a Comment »
In a time of drought
let me choose to love you
the way yucca blooms—
creamy, abundant, soft—
despite drought.
No. Because drought.
Why It Matters What We Say
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communication, connection, desert, friendship, jude Janett, words on February 21, 2021| 2 Comments »
My tears mingle with yours and the dry world is watered again.
—Jude Janett
Parched and dusty,
the inner desert
forgets it was once a wetland.
Barren of confidence,
arid with self-disdain,
it forgets how to grow things
not covered in thorns
and spines.
Then you with your love
reach across the afternoon,
a brief shower of words,
and the whole inner world
remembers how it is to be lush,
to be nurturing, to be green.
Three Snapshots from the Desert
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged desert, scale on February 7, 2021| Leave a Comment »
in my palm
a tiny pelvis—
birth of the universe
*
with such large hands
this petroglyph
holds the past
*
bright scent of juniper
no longer there—
still I sniff my fingertips
Castilleja scabrida
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged beauty, desert, flowers, plants, youth on April 6, 2020| 2 Comments »
It’s not that they are hiding—
it’s more that they know
the power of a red dress.
Between slabs of red sandstone,
the tiny yellow green flowers
of the desert paintbrush
decorate themselves
with bright red bracts,
colorful flame-like spears
that attract butterflies,
hummingbirds and bees.
It’s what we do to survive,
those of us born plain,
those of us otherwise ignored.
I think of the homely girl I was
who wanted to wear
gold combs in her hair
to the middle school dance,
as if something shiny and bright
might attract the honey boys.
I want to go back to that gym
with its streamers and balloons
and take the gold combs
out of her mousy brown hair
and tell her the brightest parts of her
are inside. I want to tell her
that being a small green
and yellow flower
will serve her.
I want her to know
that a day will come
when she’ll walk in the desert
and feel so at one
with the cliffs and the scrub brush,
the lichen and the Mormon tea,
and that in that moment
when she loses her sense of herself
and merges with slickrock
and paintbrush and sky
it is then she will be most beautiful.
Gratitude
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged desert, gratitude, juniper, tree on March 29, 2020| 6 Comments »
Gratitude, it happens,
needs less room to grow
than one might think—
is able to find purchase
on even the slenderest
of ledges, is able
to seed itself
in even the poorest of soils.
Just today, I marveled
as a small gratitude
took root
in the desert of me—
like a juniper tree
growing out of red rock.
If I hadn’t felt it myself,
I might not
have believed it—
but it’s true,
one small thankfulness
can slip into an arid despair
and with it comes
a change in the inner landscape,
the scent of evergreen.
One Especially When It Rains
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged desert, loss, ocean, poem, poetry, rain on January 15, 2020| 2 Comments »
A Small Bouquet from Grand Staircase-Escalante and Salida
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged desert, poem, poetry, snow, travel on October 28, 2019| 2 Comments »
Hi friends, I was off camping in the desert for a few days, then travelled to the glorious little town of Salida for a reading, and finally back home … here are a few small poems from the last few days …
hell’s backbone grill—
the mouth begins to thrill
from two-hundred ten miles away
*
in the slot canyon—
knowing myself as water
moving through these walls
*
wind storm in the desert—
even my thoughts
fill with sand
*
this revolving door—
certainty, uncertainty, certainty
uncertainty
*
she sweeps the leaves
from the walk—
red carpet in reverse
*
waking in a blizzard
while in my ears, my scalp
still red sand
One Time Signature
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged desert, poem, poetry, song, time signature, water on March 6, 2017| Leave a Comment »
A Strange Knowing
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged desert, drought, giving, patience, poem, poetry, rain on May 26, 2015| 5 Comments »
It is not only that the desert longs for water.
Of course the water longs for desert, too.
Any raindrop can fall and get lost in an ocean,
but to fall where it’s parched, where just
the smallest amount of wet can launch a hundred
hundred blooms, can set ten thousand thousand
seeds into frothy flight, oh. Now that is something
worth falling for. No imaginary desert. The real thing,
all prickle and spine and thorn and barb.
And the petals after. The heat can spend months
holding off just the briefest sprinkle. But then
no one said it was going to be easy, this going
where we’re needed most. Patience is the marriage
of sweetness and sting. To bring life one must also be alive.
Logic Goes to the Desert
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged desert, falling in love, logic, poem, poetry, surrender on September 3, 2014| 1 Comment »
Stop trying to understand it,
this falling in love with the scent
of cliff rose and heliotrope.
Just fall into the sweetness
and keep on falling.
Such a Day
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged desert, falling in love with the world, gratitude, poem, poetry on August 31, 2014| 1 Comment »
On a day when the desert potholes
are full of pollywogs and tiny
red-speckled frogs and the blue sky
is dappled with pink-bellied clouds,
and the San Juan is running muddy
and warm, well, you don’t have to have almost just died
to realize how lucky you are to be alive—
nope, it just comes natural, this wanting
to kiss your children, even though
they are whining all day about how
the desert is just full of rocks
and it’s so boring. Yeah, it just kind of happens,
this flash flood of gratitude, this falling in love
with everything dust can do.