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The Desert is Not for Sissies
- The Kent State University Press
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16 t H E D E s E R t I s N O t F O R s I s s I E s If I could move I would follow the cottonwood shade. It teases the limestone like a lover’s feather. It doesn’t promise oasis. a stranger hikes alone but stops beside me to bathe his blistered feet, his single painted nail in the roaring springs. I focus on his middle toe—remember it aqua, bony. I can’t look up. I lean toward the cool water, his opened canvas bag, watch him peel an orange, unfold it with his thumbs. The scent tickles me, it rallies the clouds, wakes the scorpions into flicking their tails and dancing sideways around me. I swoon for a dripping slice. He wipes his fingers across the Vishnu schist. Petroglyphs shift. Reds, purples, yellows unravel from canyon shadows, hiss against the scorching rocks. If I could move, I would follow. ...