Sangre De Cristo

Peaks like sharpened steel, warped from

thousands of years of Colorado sun

trapping the heat in this valley, a furnace

boiling away the molecular remains of water that once

made this land fertile, green, inviting. Water that

mere months before capped those peaks in soft blue snow

two lane streets hidden beneath ice, colder

than the bones of those who first broke these grounds

Blanca’s shadow, dark lines on farm land

like armored walls, holding captive

peoples who settled here, this valley of beauty, for protection from the world a new

         start, home for

generations of drop outs, basement dwellers,

inheriting the house when momma dies of a heart attack

they all do, it’s in the water,

it’s in the valley

a gift from the mountains—

a place to wait,

a place to call home

forever.

The Chef Decides to Close the Kitchen

Cast iron kettle on

stainless steel stove.

Purchased perfection, earned by

three thousand six hundred and fifty days

in the kitchen; in my kitchen

the water slinks in thick streams from tap to bottom of the

pot,                    

now resting solid, on the worktop.

Bring it to a boil and wait fifteen minutes…

Neatly kept fingers deftly spin and click the flame

Spin and click. Spin and click…

Blast this stove!

It’s heating now, the kettle, and the

Water rumbles inside, tumbling over itself and over itself.

The water is dancing and as it starts to scream

I slip myself inside. 

Tennis Shoes

The shoes were a Christmas present from my parents

high school spirit green; the

perfectly preppy piece of every

Outfit; dark jeans fitted like a glove

Carefully creamy soles padded

Down school halls, a princely waltz

My smile had ruling power there,

My sparkling eyes made every call.

Perfect shoes that held me steady when

my first love’s lips puckered

and tapped the carpet outside my parents room after

the nights    I    lived    for

Seattle now

And these shoes have seen more sidewalk than padded, carpet floor

Rain and snow wore themselves into blisters on my feet

5 times, each a week, I couldn’t walk.

I hobbled. Black spot on my foot after

a long shift at work

Wet socks inside these shoes now,

Not cute ones like before

I tie the greying laces, I have no choice anymore

No line of soft new shoppings haul

Every color and style to match

My money stretches not at all,

Barely covering the rent on this tiny hall

Ten months ago together, though a millennium it feels,

These shoes and I set out to walk an uncharted course

To change the world and become be that perfect girl

But there are holes in the soles of my shoes now

      there are holes in the souls of my shoes