COTTONWOOD BLUES
Somewhere along Highway 395
In the pasture over west—
when cottonwood shimmer fills the air
the lizard in me wants to rest
up on a silvered fence rail; there,
twitchless between red dirt and sky,
I’d blend into the wind-carved wood,
let the dark birds circle, try
not to blink until the hood
of stretching shadow catches me
open-mouthed in the hay-green breeze—
looming blue mountain gravity
draws down the sun, darkens the leaves.
—from Rattle #30, Winter 2008
Tribute to Cowboy & Western Poetry
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Thea Gavin: “What helps keep me sane in crazy, crowded Orange County, CA? My wild neighbors—the sage-covered foothills where I rode horses in my early years and where I now trail run and hike. When there’s more time to get away, dry places with wide vistas like Highway 395 country in the shadow of the Eastern Sierra Nevada—welcome me like old friends with so many stories to share. That’s what my poems aim to catch.” (web)
