Saguaro
An ancient rain sticks to creosote and sage the way my memory clings to childhood the way your ashes adorn these peaks circled by hawks the way a single saguaro braves the altitude two arms stretched out like a cross a hug a headstone the way an August monsoon slices the baked summer sky and water is held in a century of limbs the way you lay on your deathbed and asked when are you coming home and I said soon because words felt like wind and wind felt like nothing and all I ever wanted was to please you.
Photo Credit: Ken Bosma
This is gorgeous, and so elegantly rendered in so small a space.
This is so poetic and beautiful. Congratulations on a heartfelt piece.
Thank you, Patricia, for reading and your comment. ❤️🌵