While in Gila Wilderness II

day one

an easy hike 
with a friend
under cottonwoods whose leaves
are yellow and crisp
like the sun and autumn air,
we find the dragonfly 
petroglyph, and the 
tiny ponds that want me
to drink and bathe
as if no one has come 
here in two hundred years,
as if I can hear the songs of 
women washing clothes,
the babbling of babies still echoing
from the cliffs.
i yearn to 
feel
   what 
      they 
         felt,

but we head back, drive
into town, to the food co-op
where we find SURPRISE!
round, plastic containers
of fresh-made carrot soup
urging us to forget 
oceans and fish bellies 
filled with bits of petroleum-based 
human convenience. with
salivating anticipation
we buy two.
the trip back
to our cabin

is interrupted by the pinks,
yellows, and purples erupting
before us across the wide,
open new mexico skies. we
pull over and awww at the
heart-shattering play of light
that soon darkens into

the road ahead of us,
and it isn’t long until 
a fire is lit
in our kiva, its flames
imitating the sunset
that lives in memory 
and photos, preserved
in the cloud that has never 
touched the sky. we eat 
our warmed carrot soup,
and awwww once more,
at the heart-shattering play 
of flavors and warm bellies,
life full of perfection
in ever-changing moments.

day two

an easy hike 
with a friend.
our goal: 
a birding hotspot
as indicated on the map.
we walk 
among wiry, 
dr seussian cacti
next to a wide, lazy stream
that draws us close.
i yearn to
   let 
      the
         water
            carry me.
we rarely spot a bird, 
eventually arrive at 
a gate that looks
like civilization

so we head back, drive
into town, to the food co-op 
salivating
at the thought of
fresh-made carrot soup,
but we find SURPRISE!
round plastic containers of
a different soupy substance.
we forget oceans and 
fish bellies filled with 
bits of petroleum-based 
human convenience, and with
reticent anticipation
we buy two. the trip back
to our cabin

is serene, punctuated
by dreams of living simply
under the wide,
open new mexico skies, 
which are now a dark 
backdrop to

the lone headlights
on the road ahead of us,
and it isn’t long until 
a fire is lit
in our kiva, its flames
imitating a sunset
that lives in memory 
and photos, preserved
in the cloud that has never 
touched the sky. we eat 
our unremarkable

creamy soup
and come to the
realization that none
of our day’s goals 
had come to fruition. 
we awwww again at 
the heart-shattering play 
of flavors and full bellies,
life full of perfection
in ever-changing moments.


carol barrow
january, 2020