I moved to the desert
to forget about
the world,
bought myself
some cowboy boots
and threw away my heels,
found a Mexican
named, Ylario,
and made love with him
fervently.
I taught myself
how to drive
a stick shift
pick-up truck,
and wrote poetry
on my porch
naked
while the stars
kissed my shoulders.
I learned how
to make enchiladas
from an Indian
with green eyes,
read books by authors
I never heard of,
drank tequila
with a splash of hot sauce,
and watched rattlers
dance with their shadows.
Cowboys taught me
the two step
on sawdust floors
under neon lights,
while their women smoked
and gossiped
across the pool tables,
mostly about me
but I wasn’t a threat
in plain sight,
and once I even saw God
stroke the breast
of a mountain top.
I moved to the desert
to forget
about the world,
but discovered
another one
instead,
and this is when
I learned to pray again...
Adding your comment:
Love, C
