Throwing Wishes

Nostalgia tastes like the open
sky of Utah, beauty speckled
across barren desert like freckles on our burnt
faces, sandy steps sliding on heavy rocks,
daringly teetering. We are near the edge…
of what?

Only if I could hear what
the cactus whisper, alone and open,
perched so precariously as you edge
along carefully and a lizard, speckled,
moves in tandem, fast and nimble along the edge
while the sun, burnt,

slips away. Our soles are burnt
but you don’t care, only about what
caused the rocks
to crack and cry, alone in the open,
a palmful of pebbles speckled
like thousands of tears that brim the edge

What would it be like to live here (on the edge?)
We could sleep under the burnt
clouds and throw wishes to the speckled
stars, but wishing what?
Only to thrive, bare and open,
keeping company with the rocks.

I can understand the rocks
you whisper, and I know we are close to the edge.
You want to drift forever in the open
sky of Utah, away from burnt
crowded lights and trampled dreams. What
a wild wonder, beauty speckled

like our leathery palms, splayed and speckled
proof of the rivers and canyons and rocks
we tried to make our own. What
a curious thing, you murmur, to claim the edge
like a burnt
hue. Oh, my hands are open…

cracking, crying open, precarious and speckled
sunburnt dreams where we live amongst the rocks;
embrace the edge, a wild, wild what?

Todays poetry contest submission was written by Maggie Barrett.


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