Geographic Thoughts
 
Held against my will in Death Valley,
I find myself holding my breath
at the unexpected beauty that peeks
from a distance.  Can't be safe,
but it is high enough for Joshua trees
to raise their arms.  Told a waterfall
18-feet high tickles.  Ferns have lain
moss to cushion its rock-torn feet.
 
Still in Death Valley.  
A horror stone avoids.  A lake that was
all set to fill ended up having to settle
for salt-crusted soil looks hard as rock.
Try it.  Walk out a ways.  Suck
you like a lollipop.  Hear-tell of
a feller the muck buried.  Still
standin, 'e was.  Makes you mad.
Look through the swirls of dust.
an' grit. See the crumpled rugs look
like giants ordered?  Hop-skip-'n'-a jump
to an oasis ain' cookin' at 1:20 Fahrenheit.
Sun's been known to up the ante to 136.
Still, if will pull yourself up, knock
the gunk off your boots and tighten
what's left of the straps on your pack,
you can cross 'er.  Got the mettle, 'at
is.  Me?  Just have to close the cover
of a magazine that is, as it ought to be,
the color of sun stirred into gold..

              (c)  Phyllis Jean Green,  2008