Dead End Street

 

Down at the end of the road

where the grass sometimes grew in patches

like our flea-ridden cats fur

Was the big, fenced burial site.

We were young, though

and wouldn’t be scared off.

Nothing could stop us back then.

 

We’d laugh in its face when we passed.

And in it we’d conquer the scraggly trees

climbing high, clinging, and looking down

at the entirety of the place.

But we were afraid, we just pretended not to be

Because we weren’t sure why we were.

 

 

*

 

 

Rocky Mountain Road Trip

 

It’s been years since I’ve seen the skyline of the Rockies

Since I’ve spectacled the cascading springs and streams

seen scenery I could never erase.

 

The sands of the desert and the searing sun on my skin,

The whittling winds whipping walls of sand my way and

wailing, running to the van, hoping I won’t be wiped out.

 

My mom in a pit of rattlesnakes

staying calm to keep me calm

Sane and silent rather than screaming

 

All to resist startling the other, striking mother.

It’s been years since I’ve stretched out on the grass and stared up at a stretching

sky,

settling into silence and serenity.